


Deliver Before Midnight

by ayamirin



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Actually they don't hate each other, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Bickering, Brendon takes one for the team, Drug Use, Gen, Gun Violence, Inappropriate Humor, Not Beta Read, Out of Character, Seriously they all hate each other, Subliminal Ryden, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayamirin/pseuds/ayamirin
Summary: or, " If I don't do this job, Pete Wentz will kill me. "Brendon Urie is a struggling musician who managed to get into some trouble with a well known criminal boss by the name of Pete Wentz. In order to avoid ending up in the hospital with life threatening injuries, he attempts to recruit his friends to help him complete a job to clear up a debt.That sounds great except for one thing: No one has spoken to each other in five years, everyone hates each other, and Brendon forgot to mention the part that he promised Pete Wentz they'd help.With less than 17 hours to go, will they be able to pull it off?





	1. Friday, 7:00am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a tight spot and no one else to turn to, Brendon Urie decides to ask his friend, Ryan Ross, for help. Except, there's one problem, Ryan and Brendon aren't really "friends".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this actually happened

**Friday, 7:00am**

**17 hours left**

* * *

  _Bzzzt_!

Five seconds, and then once again, _bzzzt_!

Ryan Ross threw the covers over his head, burying himself deeper into the mattress of his bed in a vain attempt to ignore the doorbell that seemed to go off every five seconds.  He grumbled into his pillow, hoping that whoever was on the other side would just take the big hint and just go away.

Of course, things aren’t that easy. The ringing increased in frequency, now once every two seconds followed by a loud knock (more like a banging). He threw the comforter off his body and sat up in the bed, glaring at his bedroom door. Maybe the intensity of the glare would make the nuisance just _go away_ . It’s not like he spent the previous night drinking his current problems away with a coworker that he had hoped to take home and end on a positive release rather than vomiting on their lap inside the Uber on the way back to _his_ place.

The memory alone made the pain from the hangover he was now experiencing even worst, as if that was even physically possible. The driver was pissed off, _rightfully_ so, but it’s not like he could predict the fact that his body would end up not appreciating the cocktail of gin tonics, tequila shots, jack and coke, and three bottles of beer. Ryan had held his worst at frat house parties when he was a university student, in his defense.  

Now he was stuck with a impending bill from the Uber driver, an embarrassing moment he probably won’t be able to live down once he returned to the office, and a hangover as a physical reminder of how much he fucked up the previous night.

The doorbell, oh, that stupid fucker that just wouldn’t get the hint was honestly splitting his head with the _noise._ He got up, bare feet hitting the wood floor of his bedroom with a loud thump, and stalked over to his front door. Not even mindful of the fact that he was wearing nothing but blue boxers, he unlocked the door and swung it open it.

Ryan looked at the person standing at the doorway and his brows furrowed in a frown. Before the guest could open their mouth, he slammed the door shut and locked it. 

“ Ryan!” The person called out from the other side. “ Hey, Ryan! I know it’s early and all but I _really_ need to talk to you!” 

The lanky writer ran a hand through his hair, his bangs falling forward into his face, the attempt futile in keeping his hair out of his eyes. He waited for the person to get the hint -- no, he was not opening the door _and_ no, he was definitely not opening it up for _him_.

“ Ryan, _please_ … We’re friends, right?”

Obviously this guy was a dense as ever.

“ Go home, Brendon or I’m calling the cops!” Ryan yelled back.

“ You wouldn’t do that to me! Open the door!” 

“ Just like how you said I wouldn’t punch you in the face and I did anyway?!” 

There was nothing from the other side. Ryan waited another minute before sighing and decidedly going to the kitchen to find something to cure his hangover. Not even three steps into his quest for the cure, Brendon resumed banging on the door while yelling that he knew he was in there and can’t continue to hide forever.

Ryan growled in frustration and turned around. He stalked back to the front door and opened it. Brendon stood grinning in ripped black skinny jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a leather jacket. It really wasn’t even worth the effort of asking this guy why he was wearing a leather jacket in ninety-two degree weather because _he_ would do things as _stupid_ as that just to look cool.  

Ryan knew that grin -- that wasn’t a, ‘Hey! Long time no see!’ grin, no, that was one of those, ‘ I have some stupid idea and I want harass you with it!’ grins that honestly crawled under Ryan’s skin like spiders. 

Jesus, why was _he_ here?

“ Why are you here?” Ryan’s voice is dry and his mouth tasted like bile and battered shrimp. Man, he honestly felt like shit and it didn’t help that this uncontained human representation of hyperactivity was at his doorstep at seven in the _fucking_ morning. How could someone be this perky at this time in the morning?

“ Let me in, please? It’s hot out here.”

 “ No.”

“ _Please_.”

“ I got a major headache right now. I am not in the greatest of moods so I just tell me what’s so goddamn important that you had to wake me up at _seven in the goddamn morning_?!”

“ I need a favor and you’re the only one I can trust.” Brendon said, bouncing on the balls of his all black Chuck Taylor hi-tops, as if they were the best of friends. Ryan raised an eyebrow, not because he was interested in what he had to say, but that the last thing he ever heard from this guy’s lips was, ‘ Fuck you and I hope you die choking on a fat dick.’

Followed immediately by Ryan punching him in the face and their two other friends trying to pull his lanky frame off of the shorter one.

Now, he was stepping aside and letting this guy into his house.

“ Make it quick.” Ryan closed the door and watched as Brendon immediately made himself home by sitting down on black couch in the living room. Ryan stepped into the living room and sat down on the chair opposite of Brendon. He crossed his arms and waited for the younger man to tell his, what he assumed to be, a fantastical story of fabricated nonsense.

“ Do you like walking around half naked or…”

“ I swear to God, Urie, if you only came here to piss me off--”

“ Alright! Alright… I need help. I need your help… with something.” 

The half naked one, who sat with his back ramrod straight, arms crossed and not looking as intimidating as he had hoped in his blue boxers (he looked more like a hobo who just had his clothes stolen as a joke by some hoodlums), did not look impressed. In fact, by the way his left leg was starting to bounce, he was becoming aggravated.

 “ What… type…” Pause. Breath in. Exhale. “... of help do you need?”

Willingly blissful, or simply ignoring Ryan’s visible discontent with him, Brendon explained his situation in what could be called a vomiting of words, “ I kind of screwed up a bit with this guy and to like get myself out of that mess he asked me to do this delivery but I can't do this alone and would really appreciate it if you'd help me do this.”

Smile. Win him with kindness and the cuteness of a clean shaven man with great eyebrows. 

“ What.”

Or, not.

“ So you're gonna help me?”

Ryan blinked and held a hand up in front of him, “ Wait, no. What? You did what to who? And why should I care and…” 

His headache was pulsating. If he had to listen to this guy talk for anymore time he'd was sure his head was going to explode like that news anchor in that 80s horror, _Scanners_. Which, had that happened, he would have hoped that Brendon be arrested and charged for his murder and put away for all eternity so no other soul would have to deal with him ever again. 

There's no news like a good ol’ martyrdom for the benefit of humankind.

Brendon shifted on the couch, cleared his throat, and slowly explained himself, “ I pissed of Pete Wentz and I need to do this _favor_ ,” he emphasized favor with air quotes, “ And you're the only guy who I can think could help me…?”

_You gotta be…_

“ Fucking kidding me. Alright, time for you to leave.”

Ryan got up, walked over to Brendon and grabbed the man by his wrist. Brendon looked up at him and grinned, “ Oh, isn't it to early for this, Ryan?” 

“ Exactly. Too fucking early for _this_.” Ryan pulled Brendon’s arm, trying to get him up off the couch. He was heavier than he last remembered. “ Come on, time to go.” 

With enough pull, Brendon finally stood up, and reluctantly allowed Ryan to pull him to the front door. Ryan opened the door, releasing his arm, and pointed outside to where the sun was bright and blinding and the dry Los Angeles heat seemed suffocating.

Good. Maybe he could die out there.

“ Leave. Take your drama with you out my goddamn house.” 

“ Ryan, please…”

Okay, now Brendon realized this was not a joke.

“ Get out.”

His former friend really did hate him. That really wasn’t comforting for him to know. It actually sort of hurt. Like a slight pang in his chest from the chipping away at his heart from the rejection. 

“ Ryan, I honestly need you to help me on this one.”

 “ Nope, don’t care. Out.”

Brendon sighed and stepped outside, standing in the entryway of Ryan’s porch. The thirty year old gave him one more look over before slamming the door in his face. Brendon stood there, his face mere inches from the door, and bit his lower lip. He honestly needed Ryan’s help. There was no way he was going to be able to pull this job off without him and if he didn’t get this job done, Brendon doubted he was going to make it alive to see the next sunrise.

He lifted his hand, curling his fingers into a fist, and waited for Ryan to change his mind.

From inside the home, Ryan looked at the door warily for a few moments before shuffling back to his bedroom. If he could just sleep his hangover away, that would be most amazing thing he would have been able to accomplish for this year. Unfortunately, thanks to human biology, his endorphins would not simply let him sleep as he stood at the foot of his queen sized bed, staring down at the mess of black and white sheets with a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. 

With a frustrated curse, he walked over to his closet and looked for an outfit to wear for the day. Perhaps he could get some errands done or something; maybe pay an overdue electric bill or buy some actual food for his refrigerator. 

After washing up, he started to get dressed. By the managed to pull on a vintage white t-shirt with black sleeves, Brendon started banging on his door again. Ryan closed his eyes, slowly counted to three, and then opened them. He stalked right back to his front door, nearly stumbling over one of his dog’s toys on the trip there, and opened it. Brendon stood at the door with his hand in a fist, about to bang on his door again.

“ I told you to leave!” Ryan ran a hand through his hair. “ What’s your malfunction?!”

“ I told you I need your help!” Brendon whined. 

Ryan stood at the door, from behind them he could hear his dog pitter-patter against the wood floor, her dog tags jingling with each step of her stubby legs, unaware to the commotion going on in the house. Brendon looked over Ryan’s shoulder as he dropped his hand to his side. 

“ Nice dog. What it’s name?”

“ Calling the cops.”

“ Calling the cops. Ha, that’s a funny one.” Ryan’s expression did not change. Brendon cleared his throat. “ Okay, really, Ryan. If you just let me in and agree to helping me I’ll tell you _everything_.”

There was a few moments as Ryan contemplating letting Brendon back into his modest two bedroom home. If he let him back in, there could be no telling what type of crazy shit Brendon would drag him into. Nothing Brendon did was _easy_ ; it always involved them getting into some sort of trouble because the guy withheld information or got so excited he didn’t bother to check if it was actually _okay_ to do.

Ryan’s peaceful, single, and uneventful life as a reporter for the local newspaper covering the town hall meetings and ground breaking ceremony of a new park could come to a crashing halt. He would be disgraced, his portfolio overshadowed by the one day he decided to save Brendon Urie’s pathetic life. If he kicked him out, he could continue his bleak existence as an underpaid staff writer for a newspaper no one read, continuing his journey on becoming a respectable writer for the New York Times.

“ Get in.”

Ryan felt as if he was going to regret this later as he closed the door once Brendon stepped inside.

The two stood in the foyer; one with his arms crossed, waiting impatiently for the other in black to finally spill whatever the reason was for him to come back into his life after all these years. Brendon scratched the back of his neck, shifting in his spot, as he tried to figure out a way to explain himself to Ryan. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and exhaled.

“ Okay, so… I’ve been working at The Chirock for a while now.”

“ I know.” Ryan eyes narrowed. “ I’m sure we _all_ know.”

“ Uh, right. Yeah, so… I… sort of had ran on some hard times, you know? Recently. Because I was putting all my money into like… the recording of my album….” Brendon looked at Ryan, mentally wincing _again_ . This was _not_ a good topic for the either of them. He needed to figure out a better way to explain his situation without getting kicked out for good. “ Well, anyway, I needed a loan and well I sort of… asked… Pete Wentz to loan me… some money.” 

“ How much?”

“ A fair amount.”

“ How much is a fair amount, Brendon?”

Brendon coughed, but it sounded something along the lines of a couple of thousand dollars. Ryan sighed, rubbing his temples to alleviate the splitting headache he now had. He really needed to take something for it.

“ Anyway, I was supposed to pay him back within three months, ‘cause you know, he’s a fair guy, right? But… it’s kind of hard to come up with that amount of money in three months when you’re just a hair stylist trying to relea--trying to do that day to day hustle, you know?

So, he cut me a deal. I make a delivery for him and he’ll wipe my debt clean.”

Ryan opened his mouth and when words failed to surface on his tongue, he decided to walk to his kitchen and find the bottle of migraine pills to cure him of the suffering. He fumbled through the drawers until he found the half filled bottle of migraine pills in a drawer of paperwork and random Chinese food and pizza menus for delivery. He opened the bottle, shaking two pills into his hand, and popped them into his mouth. He swallowed them, forgoing the extra step of pouring a glass of water to take the pills with. Maybe it’d work faster.

Brendon cleared his throat and Ryan turned around, nearly dropping his pills onto the floor. Brendon was standing in his kitchen scratching his chin.

“ Jesus Christ…” Ryan said, screwing the lid shut on the pills. He put them on the kitchen counter. “ What the fuck, Brendon? Really?”

“ So… you’re gonna help me?”

“ You borrowed cash from Pete Wentz?” A slow nod. “ Pete _Fucking_ Wentz? The guy whose idol is the syphilitic moron that died from his own dick cheese just because they’re both from Chicago?!” 

“ You mean Al Capone and it was more like dick puss but I mean who’s actually trying to do a history fact che--.”

“ Who cares?!” Ryan said, cutting him off. “ Why would you do something as stupid as that?!” He threw his hands in the air with a huff.  “ He’s a fucking drug dealer!”

“ He’s not really a drug dealer… It’s kind of an underground gambling circle but….” Ryan wasn’t buying it. “ Okay, anyway, it doesn’t matter. If I don’t make this drop for him by midnight tonight I’m pretty much dead. Like, literally, _D-E-A-D_.” 

“ That actually doesn’t sound _that_ bad when you put it that way.”

Brendon frowned, “ That’s really not cool. This is my life we’re talking about here. What did I ever do -- Actually, let’s not go there.” 

“ Good, because I doubt you’d win that argument.” 

He sighed, “ I also told him you’d help so you really don’t have a choice.”

A beat.

A blink.

Ryan laughs.

Brendon laughs.

They’re both laughing.

Ryan isn’t laughing anymore.

“ You did what?” Ryan took a step forward, his body visibly shaking. “ You… _did…_ _what_?!”

Brendon immediately stopped laughing and held his hands up, “ I also said Spencer and Jon would help too.”

Ryan lunged for Brendon. The shorter guy quickly took a step backwards to avoid the fist coming in his direction. There was no time to stop and think, as Ryan had decided to go for round two, taking the opportunity to run away from his current assailant to the living room. He jumped over the leather couch, crouching behind it, as Ryan stepped into his living room, his hands curled into fists, with a look on his face that clearly spoke in the international language of fucking people up. It said, “ He was going to fuck Brendon Urie up “ and if anyone saw it, they nod in agreement and say, “ Yes, this man is going to fuck that other guy up with his fist.”

The only thing preventing that from happening was the leather couch he got from Ikea on sale for $299.99 two years ago acting as a barrier between him and Brendon. From behind the couch, Brendon slowly lifted his head high enough so he could see Ryan. He clung onto the backrest. 

“ Let’s talk this out like grown adults, okay? You’re thirty and I just turned thirty so we can have a really mature conversation here.” Brendon said in a loose attempt to defuse the situation.

“ You’re honestly trying to teach me about maturity?” Ryan scoffed as he took a step forward.

 Brendon flinched and Ryan took another step forward. The two stood in a tense silence, except for the sound of Ryan’s dog pitter-pattering across the floor oblivious to the situation around her. Brendon slowly stood up, holding his hands out in front of him in a sigh of surrender. Ryan eyed him warily. 

There was no benefit to continue arguing with Brendon, despite that Ryan felt he needed to get at least one punch in. He had not spoken to this man in _years_ and suddenly he’s knocking on his door asking for his help because he pissed off a wannabe gangster? Actually, Brendon wasn’t asking for help, it was his round about way of telling him he purposefully dragged him into this mess. Ryan knew Pete Wentz. Ryan also knew what everyone else had known about Pete Wentz: no one runs from Pete Wentz.  

There have been few who have tried, but they also had lengthy hospital stays. Ryan did not want to spend time in the hospital; he hated them for personal reasons he never wanted to get into. He also hated Brendon Urie, for various reasons he loved to get into whenever someone brought his name up in a conversation, but if he had to pick between the two options, spending a day with Urie far outweighed a stay in the ICU. 

And Brendon had decided to drag him into this mess without even having the decency to _ask_ before submitting his name into the sacrificial pool of tributes. He couldn't just say no to him now. He was as much responsible as the idiot crouched behind his couch.

“ I... “ Ryan choked back a disbelieving laugh. “ Let’s… just… go do this thing before I do something I’ll regret.”

Brendon dropped his hands and grinned. Ryan rolled his eyes and walked back into the kitchen, grabbing the bag of Kibble n’ Bits underneath the sink. He found a large bowl and filled it with the dog food then placed the bowl down in the usual feeding spot for his Basset hound. He checked her water as the dog walked over to him.

“ Hey, girl…” He said softly, rubbing behind her ears, as she decided to eat. “ I’ll be back tonight.” He stood up, idly brushing the hair off his hands on his black jeans. 

“ So, what’s her name?” 

Ryan turned around and frowned, “ I’m not telling you.”

He pushed himself past Brendon, grabbing his keys and wallet off the table in the living room. He pocketed his wallet and walked to the front door. He opened it and waited for Brendon. The younger man got the hint, stepping outside, as Ryan followed close behind closing the door behind him. He locked the door wordlessly.

“ Why won’t you tell me?” Brendon asked. Ryan shrugged his shoulders.

“ Because, once we’re done with all of this, we’re never talking again.” He said as he walked past Brendon. 

Brendon clicked his tongue, pursing his lips with a frown, before following after Ryan. He pulled his set of keys out the back pocket of his jeans and unlocked the door to his green 2009 Honda Civic. Brendon stood next to the driver side as Ryan stood on the opposite side. 

“ Let’s try to imagine that this is five years ago and we’re still the bestest of friends.” Brendon said with an exasperated sigh. Ryan wordlessly opened the passenger side door and got in the car. He slammed the door shut and Brendon rolled his eyes as he opened the door. He got in and closed the door.

“ Who’s the next victim? Jon or Spencer?” Ryan asked as Brendon put on his seat belt and sunglasses.

He started the car, looking into the rear view mirror, “ Spence.” 

The digital clock on the dashboard read 7:45am. They pulled out of Ryan’s driveway at 7:46. Brendon grip on the wheel slightly grew tighter as he tried to ignore the clock and focus on getting to Spencer’s place. Ryan rested his head against the window, drifting off to sleep, his hangover as bad as it was when he first woke up that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as an idea: What if the current, present day Panic at the Disco had one really bad night?
> 
> I love the idea of Pete as this schemer, probably due to the way Anna Green portrayed him in The Heart Rate of a Mouse. Put one and one together and this story was born. I plan on updating it on Friday nights, either once or twice a week, depending on my schedule. There are more characters/relationships/etc planned for this story, and to avoid spoilers, I will add the tags as I update this story.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Friday, 8:25am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After getting a reluctant Ryan Ross to join him on his quest to clear his debt, Brendon tries to convince Spencer Smith and Jon Walker to join him on his mighty cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this actually happened.

**Friday, 8:25am  
** **15 hours 35 minutes left**

* * *

 When Spencer Smith was a young and dumb teenager of sixteen, he decided to start a band with his childhood friend and neighbor, George Ryan Ross. All they had was a $100 beginner guitar kit that Ryan had got three Christmases ago and a beginners drum set Spencer was gifted with on his sixteenth birthday. They would meet in his family basement, making a lot of noise much to the dismay of the Smiths, as they attempted to jam to their favorite songs.

They weren't good, but they weren't bad either. Spencer was a quick learner; there was talent there even if he’d deny it whenever his mother would gush to the cashier at the supermarket that her son was going to become the next greatest drummer in music. He didn't think he'd become a great drummer, in fact, he didn't even think this band thing was going to last beyond high school.

It was something to _do_ besides hang out at the mall and waste money at the tiny corner with the crappy arcade game selection dating back to 1994 while sucking down fruit smoothies from Tropical Smoothie at the food court like every other freak and geek in town.

Eventually, by the time they were seniors, they found a bassist. Some rich kid by the name of Brent Wilson who had nothing else better to do with his time than play cover songs with them in Spencer’s basement. He was a nice kid; he had money to pitch in and buy more equipment and when they played their first live show at a local pizzeria’s fundraiser event for some kid with cancer, Brent had the cash to make the flyers to pass around their schools and social circles.

But, as Spencer had predicted all those years ago, this was going to end. And that it did. College called, and there they went. Brent, being the rich kid that he was, was able to go to a nice sweet Ivy League school somewhere out east. He sold his bass and gear, hopped on a plane, and was gone before Spencer and Ryan had realized the band was just them.

Ryan stayed in-state, pursuing the art of creative writing on the back of a full-ride scholarship. Spencer also stayed in state, studying business, because it was cheaper than going out of state to some nice school -- not everyone was as rich as Brent Wilson. And so they studied, partied, slept around, got high, and occasionally continued that band thing. Spencer on his second hand Pearl drum kit and Ryan on his Fender Sunburst Stratocaster he had managed to purchase after six months of working part time at an animal clinic, eating ramen just so he didn't have to blow his entire sad excuse of a paycheck on living expenses.

Then, one hot summer evening just before the start of their senior year of university, in the backyard of the house Ryan and Spencer were sharing with three other guys, while smoking cheap weed and drinking PBRs, like every broke college student, Ryan suggested they should take this band thing full circle.

“ But I just scored that internship at Amazon,” Spencer would say after a sip from his can of PBR, blue eyes heavy with a high from overpriced weed. Ryan, fairing the same, would shake his head. “ I gotta go in a few weeks out to Seattle after graduation… then there’s also grad school and getting my MBA….” He sighed, “ I thought we were on the same page that this was all a hobby.” 

“ I have these words that I need to get out and the only way to do that is with music.” He would look at the joint in between his index and thumb and watch how the leaves would burn so aggressively compared to tobacco, “ Our music.”

Spencer would only take a hit from the joint Ryan had passed to him, hoping that his friend of almost twenty years would just drop the topic. Only to say, three weeks later, in the sweat-stench space of a storage garage, would Spencer meet an individual named Brendon Urie, some guy Ryan had found at a hair salon while getting his haircut. When that skittery, high energy man opened his mouth and sang, Spencer’s decision on his fate with the band would change.

They were going to be something. He had to stay and make this band _something_. Graduations and degrees. Goodbyes and kisses. Off to LA to live their dream of becoming musicians.

Eight years later and Spencer Smith is slamming his front door in the faces of Ryan Ross and Brendon Urie.

“ What did you do?” Brendon asked as he stared at the white door in front of him. It was an interesting door; white, a bit weather beaten, but adorned with a little sign hanging from a hook at the center that said, “ Welcome to the Smiths “. Hun, the Smiths. When did a Smith become plural?

Ryan looked at the man next to him and frowned, “ What makes you think _I_ did something? It’s _you_ .” He ran his fingers through his hair. “ It’s _always_ you.”

“ Thanks. I appreciate it the acknowledgement.” Brendon started banging on Spencer’s front door, occasionally ringing the bell in-between calling out his name.

The door swung open, the welcome sign swinging violently, revealing icy blue eyes and a frown that could kill if Spencer Smith was capable of shooting lasers out of his eyes. Luckily, humans were incapable of such inhuman feats. He looked different, older, than what Ryan had remembered. Then again, the last time he had spoken to his childhood friend (former?) was nearly five years ago, after, well…. Ryan honestly didn’t like dwelling on that night. Brendon had looked the same, but Brendon was a vain man, and Ryan… well, he just didn’t care.

“ What are you two doing here?” Spencer asked. “ Why are you here?” 

Brendon stepped forward, hands clasped in front of him, with a scary shit-eating grin, “ Hello, neighbor! My name is Elder Urie and I was wondering if you needed help with anything around your home? Perhaps the grass needs a cut or maybe you need help elsewhere? Oh, by the way, if you don’t mind, I would love to talk about this boo--” Ryan had elbowed Brendon’s side rather hard. “Ow, what the hell, Ross?”

“ Hi. Uh, sorry to bother you, Spence, to be honest I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for this guy over here. He’s got us into some trouble and we need your help.” Ryan said in his usual monotone cadence. Spencer narrowed his eyes but Ryan continued, “ Inside would be nice.” 

Spencer gave the two one more look over before stepping aside and motioning them to enter his home. Brendon and Ryan stepped inside, Brendon taking off his sunglasses, as Ryan awkwardly stood in the foyer looking around the place. It had been years since he had been inside Spencer’s home. It was a four bedroom bachelor pad back now, now, it looked like the home of a married man. There was a feminine touch to the interior decoration; pictures of Spencer and a woman on trips and at social events adorned the walls and table tops.

Ryan had heard about this woman before. He didn’t think they’d last this long. A quick glance over at the living room, on the wall opposite of entertainment system, was a 8’’x10’’ of Spencer and that woman at their wedding.

Oh, he got married.

They looked so happy, happier than Ryan had ever remembered seeing Spencer throughout their childhood. Happier than the day Spencer had shared the big news that he was no longer a virgin the night after homecoming dance their junior year. All he had got that night was an awkward handjob and decided to not share that failure after hearing his friend’s victory. Ryan quickly focused elsewhere in the home, the weight of knowing he wasn’t even invited to the wedding starting to weigh down on his mood.

“ Her name is Linda.” Spencer supplied. Damnit, he had noticed Ryan staring. The brunet blinked and forced out a chuckled, scratching his upper arm. 

“ Oh, um, congrats.” Ryan mumbled.

“ What did you guys do this time?” Spencer said, not even skipping a beat. He stood there before them with his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a navy dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up untucked from his black jeans. A pair of glasses sat on top of his slicked back hair; it looked like he was in the middle of work. Brendon glanced at the analog clock that hung on the dining room wall behind Spencer.

8:30am. 

How productive. He knew how to adult better than the two standing in his foyer and he was the youngest of the three.

“ I didn’t do anything. _He_ did something.”

“ You honestly don’t have to put it that way, Ryan,” Brendon said with a chuckle but the glares he received from both Spencer and Ryan caused him to stop immediately. “ I sort of ran into trouble with Pete Wentz and I need your help to get out of said mess.”

Spencer opened his mouth but nothing came out. So he closed his mouth, waited a moment, because we’re going to try this again, and opened his mouth. Nothing. His brain, for some unknown reason, was not able to connect his desire to yell at Brendon with his motor skills. 

“ He forgot the important part,” Ryan added dryly as he watched Spencer’s face journey between shock, disgust, anger, and pretty much any other synonym to ‘fuck you’. “ He specifically told Pete that we would help him. That’s the only reason why I’m here.”

Spencer brought his hands together, pressing them under his nose in a contemplative gesture. He could kick them out, but like Ryan, Spencer knew Pete Wentz. You don’t run from Pete Wentz. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and pointed his clasped hands at his two former friends with a deadpan stare.

“ I have a business,” He began with an uneasy calm. “ I am actually on the clock. Right now. I was on the phone with a _client_ . You know what those are?” Spencer didn’t give Brendon the chance to reply. His voice was increasing in volume. “ People that exchange _money_ for _services_ that I provide. And you’re telling me that now I need to stop what I’m doing because your _dumbass volunteered me to Pete fucking Wentz?!_ ”

Spencer was yelling at that point and Brendon jumped like a child being scolded by their father. Ryan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his headache would never go away at this rate. Spencer laughed, a hearty laugh that was in disbelief at his current situation. He took his glasses off and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“ C-come here. I wanna show you something.” He said before walking to his office, that was right of the foyer. Brendon and Ryan followed him inside his office.

It was modest and typical; a work desk with a iMac and framed pictures, which Ryan could only assume was of him and his wife. Two modest chairs were in front of his desk, obviously for his clients. There was a bookcase behind the desk, filled with books on business management and investing. There were also cases marked with letters, A - M/N - Z, obviously client files. Spencer was only twenty-nine years old and he had the office of a fifty year old. At least he dressed like a pretentious rich millennial. 

“ You see this?” Spencer said as he pointed to a diploma hanging on the wall next to them. Ryan and Brendon looked it and said nothing. “ That’s my Masters in Business Administration from UCLA. You wanna know why I’m showing this to you?” Brendon opened his mouth but Spencer simply cut him off, obviously the question was rhetorical, “ Because it symbolizes what I would have given up had I continued bullshitting around with you two idiots! I could have been somewhere big with Amazon or Google or some tech company but _no_ , I decided to follow your,” Spencer was looking at Ryan at this point in his rant. “ Stupid dream! Now Tweedledee and Tweedledum shows up at my doorstep and tell me that they made a deal with a gangster and dragged me into it?!”

“ Who’s Tweedledum?” Brendon asked generally curious because there was no way in hell ge’d be the dumb one of the group. Brendon Urie was talented and smart, so there was no way he could be Tweedledum; but he had to make sure. Except, no one was paying attention to him at this point because Ryan and Spencer were now in a heated argument between themselves. 

“ I didn’t drag you into anything, Spencer.” Ryan defensively said. “ Trust me, if it was up to me, I’d be at home underneath my covers nursing my hangover.”

“ I don’t care, Ryan!” Spencer stressed.

“ Why is this all my fault? Urie is the one that dragged us all into it!” 

“ Because you’re the one that introduced us to him!”

Well.

That’s one way to shut someone up. Ryan decided to stay quiet and focus looking outside the window that gave a view to the outside. It was a nice neighborhood, better than Ryan’s own at least, with nice cars in driveways and well manicured lawns. Spencer was always smart when it came to investing his money while Ryan was more focused on trying to get his art heard and seen, investing all his money into that. Ryan remembered how he’d joked with Spencer over the home, twenty four and already settling down with a thirty year mortgage. 

Now he was beginning to realize that Spencer may have been wanting to get out of the band earlier than he had thought.

Brendon cleared his throat, “ I only have till midnight to do this for Pete so if we could go get Jon--”

“ You brought _Jon_ into this too?” Spencer asked in disbelief.

“ I’ll explain it all in the car.” Brendon motioned towards the front door. “ So can we please go?”

“ Hold on. I need to call _my wife_ and let her know that I’m being held against my will by two idiots.”

“ One idiot.” Ryan said under his breath.

 “ What was that, Ross?”

 “ One… one idiot.” He sighed. “ Nothing.”

Ryan looked at his boots. Hun, maybe he shouldn’t have tucked his pant legs into them. Spencer rolled his eyes as he picked up his iPhone and dialed for his wife. Once his wife answered the phone, Spencer’s expression changed from murderous to light heart and happy within a blink of an eye. Almost like a Jekyll and Hyde transformation. Between the pet names and the laughter, Ryan was sure someone was possessing his friend’s body.

It was a nice cover up. Met some friends he had not seen in years; decided to take them around town and show them sights. Planned to be back before midnight, don’t bother waiting for dinner because he’ll be eating out. Damn, Spencer was a good liar.

They were walking back to Brendon’s car after leaving Spencer’s nice, suburban home in his nice perfect suburban neighborhood where everyone looked like they were vomited out of a Tide detergent commercial, when Spencer stopped in front of the car staring at it with a raised eyebrow.

“ Is this the… Civic you won at that concert?” He asked. Brendon, who was standing at the driver’s side with the door opened, nodded. “ Wow.”

 Brendon grinned, “ It’s a hybrid.” He gave the car a gentle pat. Ryan rolled his eyes as he got the car, flopping down onto the front passenger seat and slamming the door shut.

 Spencer could still remember that hot summer day in 2009, where he, Brendon and Ryan stood under the hot sun, with a car key in hand, baking for a chance to win a brand new car. They didn’t even care about the bands performing on tour; all they heard was that they were giving away a brand new Honda Civic and all they needed was a ticket to the concert for a chance to win. They had just arrived in LA a few months earlier and new wheels meant they could get to their gigs without having to worry about the radiator overheating and the car shutting off in the middle of traffic.

Spencer was first with no luck. Ryan was up next, again, with no luck. Then came Brendon with his mop of black hair, skinny jeans, red Chuck Taylors, and a tight fitting band t-shirt (that wasn’t of any of the bands on the tour) under an open plaid button down, bouncing with high energy as he stuck the key into the driver’s side door and unlocked it.

Ryan and Spencer came running to him and like a scene from a movie, they all hugged each other bouncing up and down, crying and yelling and celebrating their overdue victory of winning a brand new car. Brendon got some pictures with the headlining act, signed some papers, and within a couple of weeks a green 2009 Honda Civic appeared in front of their apartment complex.

There was a lot of great memories made with that car. But now the trio sat in a bitter silence as Brendon drove to Jon's place. The car didn’t look that much different from their late night drives in search for fast food, high on weed and hungry as hell; probably a lot more cleaner than the two had remembered it being. But, there was no use getting caught up on nostalgia when Spencer remembered that the only reason why he was back in the old vehicle was because its owner had dragged him into his mess.

“ Are you going to explain to me what happened or are you just going to keep avoiding the topic by talking about stuff I do not care about?” Spencer asked dryly, cutting off Brendon’s soliloquy on how happy he was that everyone was back together again.

“ Well, in short, I sort of asked Pete Wentz for a loan and haven’t paid him back.” Brendon said slowly. He looked at Spencer, who sat in the back of the four door Civic, through the rear view mirror for his expression.

He couldn’t read him. Brendon hated when he couldn’t read Spencer because that meant he couldn’t figure out or plan his next move. Ryan was easily readable; he always carried his emotions on his shoulder for the world to see, even if he didn’t intend for that to happen. Brendon could easily ease himself out of a difficult situation with Ryan, but Spencer on the other hand, was good at keeping everything hidden behind a face of indifference. It made conversations like this extremely difficult. 

“ How much did you borrow?” Spencer asked. 

Before Brendon could answer, Ryan replied exasperatedly with, “ Two thousand dollars.”

Spencer blinked, “ What?” He sat up in the seat, scooting forward enough so that he was in between Ryan and Brendon. “ What?”

“ I was in a bad spot and he was the only guy I knew who I could ask.” Brendon said with a shrug. Spencer slapped Brendon’s arm like a father scolding his son for doing something stupid, _again_.

“ Stop shrugging! This isn’t something you _shrug_ about, okay?” Spencer scolded. He dropped his head, rubbing his eyes. “ Okay, what if I just gave you the money now and you can give it to Pete. Then we can just call this a wash and act like this never happened?”

“ Can’t.”

“ Why _can’t_ we?” 

“ Because Pete doesn’t want the money anymore. He wants a job done.”

Spencer lifted his head. He glanced at Ryan, who was sitting with his head against the window, eyes closed in a feeble attempt to get some sleep. He looked to his left at Brendon who was driving, seemingly undisturbed by the fact he was now in deep shit with the infamous Pete Wentz. Spencer knew that Brendon was anything but undisturbed.

It only made Spencer more uneased. If this turned out to be a drug deal, Spencer did not know what he would do. There was so much at stake here and Brendon just decided to include him in his drama for whatever reason, not taking into consideration that they all had their own private lives with families and obligations. How was he going to explain to his wife, from prison, that he was forced into a drug deal by his so called ‘friends’? 

“ Do you know exactly what this job entails?”

Brendon scratched his chin, “ Nope. We’ll find out after we get Jon.”

Spencer fell backwards onto the seat with a huff, covering his face with his hands. He fought back the urge to scream.

It read 9:38am on the digital clock of Brendon’s car when they pulled into the entrance of a gated community. Brendon pulled the car aside, waiting for someone to open the gate, so he could trail after them. Not soon after, a minivan drove past the idling car, and the gate started to open. Brendon quickly set the car into drive, and drove closely behind the minivan, getting inside the community before the gate closed. 

“ I don’t understand the purpose of those gates if anyone can just drive through if they time it right.” Brendon observed as he glanced at his cell phone for the directions.

They eventually found the home, a two story home that looked like every other two story in the neighborhood. It looked nice, not something that Ryan or Spencer would have expected to find Jon residing it, but it was nice. The last time they spoke to Jon, he was temporarily staying with Ryan as he was preparing to move in with his girlfriend, now fiance, into an apartment on the other side of town.

That was shortly after the great implosion of their friendship, one night in June five years ago.

Two story homes in semi-gated communities didn’t really fit the profile of Jonathan Walker. Then again, a master degree holding married successfully self-employed Spencer Smith also didn’t fit the profile. Ryan and Brendon seemed to be the only two that managed to live up to expectation -- struggling artists going nowhere and reluctant to give up on the craft for something practical and sustaining.

Ryan was just surprised Jon had also settled down. He seemed the less likely out of the entire group with his free spirit and general love for life.

The trio stood in before the front door to Jon’s place. Brendon lifted his finger to the door bell, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and pressed the button. Immediately dogs started barking. Ryan looked around the house, noticing two cats sitting on the window pane on the second floor, looking down on them with an expression of disinterest. Faintly, they could hear someone's voice on the other side, and as the person approached the door the voice became more distinctly like the person they were looking for.

The door opened, revealing a slightly older looking Jon Walker. He rambled, apologizing for getting to the door late, as he tried to keep his dogs from escaping the house, not actually noticing the guests standing outside his door. It wasn't until he looked up and realized that the usually calm expression Jon was known for carrying was immediately replaced with anger and, for the third time that day, the door was slammed in Brendon’s face.

“ You're definitely on a roll, Brendon.” Ryan quipped from behind Brendon. “ Three times in one morning. Wow.”

“ Shut up, Ross.”

“ Oh, you slammed the door on him too?” Spencer asked, genuinely interested. Ryan nodded.

“ Yeah. Threatened to call the cops too. You definitely handled it better than I did. At least he got a lecture. I just chased him throughout my house.”

“ You do know I'm standing right here, right?”

Ryan shrugged, “ Yep.”

With a roll of his eyes, Brendon started banging on the door.

“ Aren't you gonna stop him?” Spencer asked, under his breath, “ He sounds like someone after their money.”

“ Naw, I’m interested on how Jon handles this wonderful reunion.” Ryan said before chuckling. Spencer sighed, looking around the neighborhood. These were this type of places where people most definitely called the cops and with the way Brendon was banging and yelling for Jon to open up, Spencer was sure the police would be on their way soon.

Before Spencer had the nerve to stop Brendon, the door opened again, and Jon stepped outside closing the door behind him. He definitely looked older; grey hair was sprinkled across his dark brown hair, his beard was thicker than ever, and he was sporting stress lines. His usual dress didn't change; t-shirt and jeans with flip flops. For a guy originally from Chicago, his affinity towards flip flops seemed out of place. He fit more with the stereotype of a Floridian than a Chicagoan.

“ Hi.” Jon said with about as much excitement as a kid getting socks for Christmas.

“ Hey, JWalk, my man!” Brendon greeted, lifting his right hand in the air for a high five. Jon just looked at the hand then at its owner. He was not impressed. Brendon awkwardly dropped his hand. 

“ Why are you guys here?”

“ I kind of need your help with something.” So began Brendon’s roundabout speech. Jon raised an eyebrow.

“ You already have two people.”

“ Yeah, but I kind of need three so…” Brendon motioned to the Civic parked behind them in the driveway. “ If we can just go that'd be really great.”

 “ I don't want to go.”

“ Why.” 

“ Because I don't randomly leave my home when people I haven't spoken to in five years come knocking on my door like nothing has happened.” 

Jon may not have sounded angry, his face may have calm, but the speed at which he said those words were clearly indicative of how annoyed he was with Brendon. He gave Ryan a look too. Well, at all of them.

“ But we can make up for lost time, you know? Like the good old days when we would just get high and eat In-N-Out and philosophize about monkeys.” 

“ Which part of 'I don't randomly leave my home' don't you understand, Brendon?” 

“ The part where he forgot to mention that you actually don't have a choice because he made a really fucked up deal with Pete Wentz?” Ryan answered, blocking the sun from his eyes with a hand. Jon looked between Ryan and Brendon, noticing how the former was grinning nervously while the former looked like he had given up on life weeks ago. Maybe months ago.

Jon mentally sighed. Ryan was never really the ray of sunshine in the group. Good for everyone things never really changed for any of them. Though, he had hoped Brendon would have at least calmed down a percentage from when they younger. Maybe fifty or seventy percent would have been nice. 

It was way too early in the morning for all of this.

“ So, uh, wanna come join us?”

“ Nope. You guys had your chance and blew it when all of y’all stopped answering my texts and phone calls.” Spencer winced and Ryan decided to check out the cats again. Yep, they were still judging from the window. “ I'm going to open this door, step inside my beautiful home, and go back to editing this wedding footage for my customer. You three better be gone before Cassie comes back with my daughter from shopping.” 

“ Wait, you have a kid?” Spencer suddenly asked with wide eyes. How did he miss that bit of information? Jon didn't look the slightest bit in the celebratory mood to explain his recent life achievements.

“ That's what happens to married couples. They have kids.” Jon reached for the door handle behind him and pushed it down. 

“ You can't actually do that, though…!” Brendon nearly whined. Jon raised an eyebrow.

“ Says who?”

“ Says Pete Wentz. If you don't do this he'll send people over to your house to, uh, you know…” Brendon started to make signs or something with his hands to explain what could happen but it was all nonsense to Jon.

“ If we could get out of this, we would.” Spencer added dryly. “ But Idiot of the Year 2017 decided that dragging us into his problems was a fantastic idea.”

“ And we have like less than an hour to actually get back to Pete’s so it'd be really great if you could just get in the car.”

“ Wait, what?!” Came three voices that didn't belong to Brendon. He looked around at the three men and laughed nervously. 

“ Oh yeah, I just remembered that we also needed to meet with him too at eleven so he could actually give us the details of the job.”

“ Don't tell me you suddenly forgot?!” Spencer yelled. " You don't forget shit like that!" 

“ Well, Spence, I didn't think it'd be _this_ difficult to get Jon in the car!”

“ What are you implying by that, Urie?!” Jon snapped.

“ Jesus Christ, we’re all gonna die.” Ryan mumbled, digging into his back pocket for his pack of cigarettes, except realizing that he forgot his cigarettes back home. “ Fuck…. me….”

Four doors simultaneously slammed shut. Jon sat in the back along with Spencer, with his arms crossed over his chest and a very obvious unamused expression written all over his face. Ryan kept scratching his upper arm, while his left leg kept bouncing, obviously in need of a cigarette but he wasn’t going to dare asking _them_ for one. Brendon didn’t hesitate to start up the car and pull out of the driveway, speeding out of the gated community and back on the city streets.

Jon didn’t bother to sugar coat the situation when he had called his wife to let her know he wouldn’t be home when they got back. In fact, he had her on speakerphone, so that the other three could hear how much she liked them. And by ‘like’, it was was more a burning hatred for their hypocritical, selfish, career destroying asses. At least they ended the conversation with much pet names and kisses even though Spencer, Brendon and Ryan stood awkwardly staring at the phone in Jon’s hand as if it had grown a head or two. 

“ How did you find out where I lived?” Jon asked, breaking the silence that had followed them since they all bregrundenly got into the Civic twenty minutes ago. Brendon shrugged.

“ I heard you were doing videography and photography for concerts and stuff so I googled your business, called up, said I was a cousin and got your address.”

Jon couldn’t think of anything else to say so he slid down in the backseat, deciding it would be best to just sleep everything off. Perhaps, when he woke up, it would be in the warm embrace of his wife and all of this would be a dream. Only that thirty three minutes later, as the Civic pulled up to a nice posh Malibu home, Jon woke up to the cold embrace of A/C and the haunting fear that they had just arrived at Pete Wentz’ residence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Friday, 10:59am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the four finally united, they pay Pete Wentz a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never lived in California so my research is literally Google Maps and Wikipedia. I apologize in advance to any Californians.
> 
> Disclaimer: None of this actually happened.

**Friday, 10:59am**   
**13 hours 1 minute left**

* * *

 

Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III was the son of a label executive, though, he lived the life as middle class son of a single mother in the suburbs of Chicago. He didn't know much about his father other than he produced some famous artists and he sent a nice, healthy check once a month to his mother to cover the expenses of raising him. Once a year, every summer, he’d fly off to LA where he spent time with his father. And by spending time, it meant under the care of his assistant as his father was too busy to actually spend time with him.

The assistant would change every year. Always young, always bright eyed and willing. It would be years later that he learned the assistants were just his father's mistresses, hoping to score a job in the industry or carry the last name. He would begin to notice how people would fall to his feet, desperate for a blessing from his almighty influence over the industry. Board rooms lapped up whatever he threw at them like obedient dogs looking for a treat. Industry magazines wrote about him as if he was a living God posing by his poolside with a cigar in one hand and a cognac in another.

While Pete may not has personally known his father, the older he got, the more he began to admire the power his father had over people. The man had become less of a parental figure and more of an idol.

He had thought that he would eventually work at the record company by default of being his son, but his father was a man that felt that people must earn their keep in the world. So, rather than walk the halls at his father side to be groomed as the next CEO of the label, Pete was regulated to the mail room, sorting internal documents and delivering them within the company.

“ Discipline is what this will teach you.” His father told him one day as he delivered the mail to him. “ Things like this don't come on silver platters.”

Maybe not, but as Pete began to realize, there was other ways to power and success than living in the shadow of an idol. So, he began to make a name for himself in the clubs; his father may have denied him a golden ticket to the top, but he couldn't take his name and the clout that came with it. And with that name, Pete Wentz made a name for himself in the club circuit, eventually opening up his own -- The Chirock -- and using his connections to gain control and power in the industry.

If he couldn't do it legitimately on center stage, he might as well pull the strings from behind the curtain.

“ Panic at the motherfucking Disco!” Pete greeted loudly with a wide grin as he descended the staircase of his Malibu home. “ It's so great to see the band back together after all these years!”

The four men stood silently at the foot of the staircase, awkwardly trying to appear calm as they watched Pete take his time down the white staircase in nothing but a black hoodie, skinny jeans, and sneakers. He was damn near forty but he dressed like he was still twenty two and fresh out of college. The only thing Spencer noticed that had changed was the lack of makeup and wax in his hair to keep it razor straight. The layered, lengthy choppy cut was replaced by a tight, clean and low maintenance cut.

“ It's so nice to see you again, Pete..!” Brendon said, a light tinge of an nervous edge ringing in his voice. Pete stood before Brendon, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze.

“ Oh, it's nice to see you too after all these weeks of avoiding me.” He grinned as his grip got tighter. Brendon winced. “ No hard feelings, though, I'm just glad you finally responded to my message.”

He let the singer go and turned around. Brendon quickly rubbed some feeling back to his shoulder while the other three mentally prayed for a miracle of salvation.

“ Come, join me in my office.” Pete walked away, through the hallway between the staircase that lead to the second floor. “ We have so much to discuss and very little time!” His voice carried off, echoing against the grey marble tiled floors of the home.

The four hesitated, before Ryan shoved Brendon forward who then shoved him back which then caused Spencer to shove the both of them forward. With a huff, Brendon lead the group behind Pete. Jon rubbed his temple as he followed the three.

The home was atypical but it lacked the opulence one would have expected from someone who had such a grandiose reputation as Pete. The furnishings and decorations were kept to the barest of minimums, as if living in the home would have been a crime. Everything placed looked like a picture from an interior design magazine. It was more show than anything else.

The group stepped outside, passing the pool with its crystalline water, and a view that stretched out into the Pacific Ocean from atop of the cliff side the house was situated on, and crosses over to a small guest house behind the property. It was Pete’s private office; only Ryan and Brendon knew this -- they were the only ones that ever made it there and each time it ended with bad news.

Pete opened the door and stepped inside, the rush of cold air conditioned air rushing out towards the other four like a touch of sympathy against their heated skins. They stepped inside, Jon hesitatingly closing the door behind him, and watched as Pete went straight to the wet bar situated to the right side of the modest guest house. It was only an room, no bedrooms or a kitchen, just a room with two couches facing each other with a table between them, and a desk with nothing but a laptop on top.

“ Do you guys want anything to drink?” Pete asked as he looked through the bottles of top shelf liquor. Everyone looked amongst each other, questioning the offer. “ Don't be shy, I'm offering you a piece of my home.”

“ We, uh, are fine. It's still early and it's not good to drink before five.” Brendon said, slightly stumbling over his words. Pete pulled out a bottle of gin, his back to the four, and looked at the label.

“ Nonsense. It's five o'clock somewhere.” He unscrewed the top, pouring the spirit into a glass with two ice cubes. He topped it off with a tonic and lime and then turned around with the drink in hand, “ I'd figured I'd celebrate you’s guys reunion with a nice gin tonic. But judging by your faces I maybe celebrating a bit too soon.”

Pete finished the drink with two sips and placed the glass down on the table with a bit more force than necessary. He motioned for them to take a seat on the couches as he stood at his desk, sitting on top of the sleek black surface. The four sat on the couches, Spencer and Ryan in one, Jon and Brendon on the other.

“ Interesting. It was usually the other way around but…” Pete chuckled, clearly speaking on their seating arrangement. “ Who cares. I'm sure you're wanting to know why you're all here today.”

“ Something about Brendon owing you something?” Jon asked seeing how no one was wanting to talk. Pete made a firing motion with his hand at Jon who smiled nervously.

“ Bingo. I always knew Jon was the smart one coming from Chicago. Better weather, breathable air, actual bodies of water nearby…. Besides, _I'm_ from Chicago so that obviously means _something_ . Can't say much for Las Vegas. That Las Vegas weather does something to the brain seeing how I'm always having _problems_ with people from there.” The other three shifted in their seats.

Pete clasped his hands together in front of him, his smile never seeming to falter, “ So, Brendon, why don't you explain to the class why we are all here today.”

“ I sort of already told them.” Brendon said, finding his reflection in the coffee table more interesting than looking at Pete.

“ I didn't ask you if you told them. I asked you to share with us why we are here today.” There was a sudden icy chill to Pete’s voice. Brendon cleared his threat.

“ I borrowed two thousand dollars from Pete and failed to pay back him in time.”

“ Right. And how does this involve your friends?”

“ You said I needed three more people to do this job.”

“ Right.” Pete leaned forward slightly. “ What type of friends?”

Brendon sighed, “ Friends that knew Las Vegas like the back of their hand.”

“ So that’s why we’re all here today on this beautiful Friday morning!” Pete leaned back with a laugh. “ Three idiots from Las Vegas and their sidekick.”

Ryan, Spencer and Jon didn't know whether to start yelling at Brendon or try to talk their way out of the situation with a weak negotiation attempt to Pete. Jon particularly didn't appreciate being referred to as the sidekick. He wasn't a sidekick, he was the bassist -- well, former bassist -- and he had contributed a lot to the group like helping them not sink their money into garbage equipment or how to actually fix their instruments. He closed his eyes and shook his head, he’ll eventually get Brendon.

If Pete had noticed the expressions of dislike on the three men’s faces, he didn’t appear like it. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a key. The keychain had a number printed on it, 1173.

“ I need you to go to the Public Storage in downtown L.A. and pick up a package.” Pete said as he put his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. Brendon took the key off the table and looked at it.

“ Where exactly?” Brendon asked. Pete shrugged.

“ I don’t know. You got a phone, right? Look it up.”

The four sat there not budging for the phones. Pete rolled his eyes and with a dramatic sigh, “ Get out your phones and look it up! It’s not hard, you know? You take out the phone, and you put it near your mouth and you say, ‘Hey Siri! Directions to the nearest Public Storage in Downtown LA’ and the stupid phone gives you the directions. Jesus christ, are you idiots?” He yelled, demonstrating the art of asking an iPhone for directions with his own phone.

There was a brief moment of silence before the dry, monotone and emotionless voice of Siri replied with, “ I’m sorry Pete. I do not know what you mean by _Public Storage In Downtown LA and the Stupid Phone Gives You Directions_.”

The four sat there, torn between laughing and crying at how awkward the situation was becoming. Here, before them, stood a man who could literally have them killed and dumped in the Californian desert and his phone triggered an unexpected reply, repeating his rant in the emotionless dryness the phone’s artificial intelligence was known for. Spencer looked around, blue eyes searching for some cue, before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone.

He brought the device against his lips and licked his lips. He opened his mouth, hesitating for a couple of seconds, before asking the phone for a Public Storage in Downtown L.A.

“ Hi, Spencer. I found one Public Storage in Downtown L.A. located on Avery Street. Would you like directions there?” Siri replied.

Spencer cleared his throat, bringing the phone away from his mouth and placing it on top of the table, “ Uh, it’s located off of Avery street.”

“ You guys got one hour to pick it up.” Pete said with a shrug.

“ What.” Jon said. It wasn’t a question.

“ Is there a problem, Walker?” Pete raised an eyebrow. Jon rubbed his hands on his jeans and shifted in his seat.

“ It’s gonna take more than an hour to get downtown from here…”

“ And?”

“ Well, I mean,” Jon looked at the other three in a silent cry for help. Brendon was still looking at the key, as if it could transport him to a place far far away. Ryan was looking at the rings on his fingers and Spencer sat quietly with his hands in his lap, looking at his phone, contemplating if he should reply to the open ended question. Jon sighed, “ Nevermind.”

“ Great. So we’re all good? You know what to do and where to go?”

For a guy that dabbled in criminal activity, he was unusually carefree.

“ After we, uh, get this package…. What do we do with it?” Spencer asked.

His phone was still taunting him with the directions to the Public Storage and all he wanted to do was say ‘yes’. Except, he remembered vividly the time they were in a meeting with Pete and Brendon’s Sidekick had started ringing in the middle of Pete’s speech on the record industry and how rock n’ roll needed to be saved. Which, obviously, angered the man and he made Brendon throw his cell phone outside the window of second floor of The Chirock club. Brendon still owed $200 on the device at the time.

Spencer didn’t want to destroy his phone to appease Pete Wentz. He was still paying it off.

Pete leaned against his desk, “ I’ll call you in one hour.”

Simply said. Just like that. As if he was telling them the sky was blue and grass was green.

“ You gonna ask Siri for those directions?”

“ Hun?”

Pete nodded towards Spencer’s phone. He looked at the iPhone and slowly picked it up, “ Uh... Yes, Siri.”

The phone dinged, and then Siri began rambling directions from their current location. They all sat there, the phone occasionally declaring it was recalculating the directions.

“ What the fuck are you all sitting down for?” Pete motioned towards the door of his office. “ Didn’t I tell you guys you only had one hour to get down there? Get the fuck out!”

The four scrambled up, nearly falling over each other. Brendon pushed Jon, rushing him away from the couch as Spencer and Ryan high tailed it out the office. The four ran through the backyard, past the pool, through his home and outside to the expansive u-shaped driveway that hosted several expensive luxury cars and a dinky eight year old green Honda Civic right in the middle of it all.

“ Head west onto Cliffside Drive.” Siri directed from the back pocket of Spencer’s jeans as they stood next to the car. Ryan pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans and glanced at the clock.

11:22am. They left Pete’s office at 11:20am. They had fifty eight minutes to get to Downtown L.A. in a goddamn Honda Civic in thick traffic on I-10. He ran a hand through his hair, locks of hair falling into his face, with a sigh and pocketed his phone. This was honestly _not_ happening to him right now. He glanced at Brendon and something finally snapped. Ryan rounded on Brendon, grabbing him by his jacket and shoving him against the car.

Spencer ran like a parent trying to stop their kid from messing with a display at a toy store. He grabbed Ryan by the biceps, pulling his childhood friend off of Brendon without much resistance. Ryan shrugged Spencer off of him, running a hand through his hair with another frustrated sigh.

“ This is all your fault!” He yelled. “ I swear to God, Brendon! You never tell the goddamn truth and it always lands us into messes like this!”

“ Like I said earlier, I’m sorry!” Brendon said, holding his hands up in front of him in defense. Ryan laughed.

“ You never apologized for any of this. You only showed up on our doorsteps, threw fucking Pete’s name at us, and expected us to just go along like we’re all best friends and this is just another run to In-N-Out.” Ryan said cooly.

Brendon sighed exasperatedly.

“ Dude, what did you expect? I had no choice. He _forced_ me to get you guys.” Brendon made his way over to the driver side. “ Can we just discuss this later? We don’t have time to do this right now.”

“ Fine.” Ryan spat, opening the front passenger door. He wordlessly got in, slamming the door harder than he had done that entire morning. The side view mirror shook from the impact and Brendon frowned.

“ Fucking break my car door, why don’t you?” He grumbled as he got inside the car.

From the back pocket of Spencer’s pants, Siri, completely unaware of the tense situation between the group thanks to its lack of sentity, reminded everyone of the first step of their adventure.

“ Head west onto Cliffside Drive.”

 

***

 

Los Angeles was not known for its traffic being easy, clear, and enjoyable to drive through. The city was notorious for its traffic jams and endless construction no matter what time of the day it was. With emotions on high, there was bound to be a traffic accident or two, further complicating a commuter’s day.

The group sped through the Los Angeles area, Brendon deciding to take side streets and by passing whatever traffic or construction in the way that would hold them up. Spencer’s iPhone had predicted that the trip would take about an hour and a half, but they had managed to make it to downtown L.A. in fifty minutes. They were lucky enough that they didn’t get stopped by the police for reckless driving.

They pulled up to a large multi-story warehouse that had Public Storage on the side of the building in large letters. Not wasting time to find a decent parking spot, Brendon parked the car in front of the entrance to the building and the four quickly got out, running up the steps and inside the storage facility. They ran straight to the elevator and pressed the up button as Brendon’s phone began to ring.

They all looked at each other and then at the phone in Brendon’s hand. He looked at the lock screen at the time displayed: 12:20pm. Exactly one hour from when they left Pete’s residence. Swallowing, Brendon tapped the green answer button and brought the phone slowly to his ear.

“ Hi, Pete!” He said with a chuckle.

The elevator had arrived at the point and they all huddled inside of it. Jon pressed the door close button repeatedly until the doors closed and then hit the button for the eleventh floor.

“ Yeah, yeah,” Brendon said, phone to his ear. “ Right. Yeah, no, we’re here. Heading straight to the storage container as we speak.”

The elevator hums as Brendon tries to buy time with Pete over the phone, slowly rising to the highest level in the storage facility. As the elevator creeps up the floors, the tension within everyone in that oversized warehouse elevator grew from within them. What could possibly be in there? What exactly did Pete want them to do with the package? And why did it have to be _them_ of all people, a bunch of nobodies with nothing of leverage or worth to Pete Wentz and his crummy underground business?

The elevator doors opened up, revealing aisles and aisles of storage containers. They’ve seen a few episodes of Storage Wars on TV, even had visited a storage lot a few times on their own, but never anything like this. Dark, with fluorescent lights giving an artificial glow to the metal containers, further emphasizing the illusion that they were about to do something very illegal.

“ This is honestly the shit you see in movies….” Jon whispered as he looked around himself at the stacked containers.

The finally found the container, no. 1173, in the back of the second aisle, on the ground level. Spencer mentally thanked God for making this step easy enough for them, though, he was dreading what was on the other side of the aluminum panelling. Holding the phone between his shoulder and ear, Brendon bent down and inserted the key into the padlock and turned the key slowly. The padlock clicked open and with little effort, Brendon lifted the panel door up.

“ There’s nothing here…?” Brendon said as he grabbed his phone with his hand again. He took the phone from his ear and pressed the speaker button. Suddenly Pete’s voice echoed throughout the eleventh floor.

“ Am I on speaker?”

Brendon nodded, “ Yeah. “

“ Okay. Obviously it’d look like there’s nothing in there if you didn’t bother to put a flashlight in there.”

Spencer took his cell phone out and turned on the flashlight. He shone it inside the container and, in the center, was a black briefcase. Inwardly, Spencer mentally sighed in relief. They weren’t going to be transporting drugs. There was a high possibility that he would make it home by midnight in one piece.

“ Do you see it?” Pete asked. Everyone nodded, even though it was obvious Pete couldn’t see. “ Well, I need you to deliver that briefcase to an associate of mine in Las Vegas.”

“ Where in Las Vegas?” Brendon asked, motioning for Jon to pick up the briefcase. Jon rolled his eyes, silently walking inside the container. He grabbed the suitcase and gave it a little feel, noticing it seemed kind of empty. He didn’t dwell on it, walking back to the group with the black case in his right hand. He closed the panelling, locking the padlock.

“ The Palms.” Pete paused, “ I can’t talk much longer but I’ll contact you in six hours. You should be in Vegas by then. Do not open that briefcase. If I find out you’ve opened that case I swear to God I’ll fuck you up. There’ll be more than a panic at the disco once I’m done with you.”

The line went dead.

Ryan sighed, “ I regret naming the band that. If I knew people were going to do that to the name…”

“ What are you talking about, Ryan? The only one who did that to the name was _him._ ” Spencer said matter-of-fact.

“ But lets say we did make it. Imagine the jokes. Holiday lights that would say yikes in the yard or something.”

“ That’s actually pretty funny.” Brendon chuckled. “ Yikes in the yard. Wow, that’s _brilliant_.”

Ryan gave Brendon a look.

“ Let’s just… get rid of this thing for Pete.”

Jon cleared his throat, “ Can we get something to eat first? I don’t want to be stuck on the road for four hours without food.”

“ Food?” Spencer asked as if he was delegating a vote.

“ Yeah, sure.” Ryan mumbled.

“ Sounds cool with me.” Brendon said with a grin.

It was 12:48pm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Friday, 1:19pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected circumstances forces Panic! at the Disco to recruit another person into their jolly happy friend circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this actually happened.

**Friday, 1:19pm  
** **10 hours 41 minute left**

* * *

 

 

It wasn't an In-N-Out. It was fancier, well, pretentious would be a better description. A lot more expensive and lacking in the food department, unless pre-boxed organic sandwiches under the guise of homemade  and overpriced bottled water was something that catered to your fancy. The cafe was busy, business men and women flying through the entrance in need of a caffeine or sugar fix to finish the rest of their day. Starving and struggling actors and musicians mixing drinks behind the counter in white shirts and black pants with dreams of becoming the next great thing in entertainment. 

It reminded Jon Walker of himself years ago when he left home in Chicago for California with nothing but five hundred dollars, his guitar, a carry on suitcase of clothes, and a one way plane ticket to Los Angeles International Airport. He crashed at a friend's place until he found a job at Starbucks on the corner of Sunset and Vine. It was there he met Ryan Ross; a young guy with a guitar and a beat up composition notebook full of lyrics and poems, and a penchant for always ordering Strawberry Creme frappuccinos.

Jon noticed the guy wasn't much of a talker. He's mumble his order, hand over his debit card, and move on to collect his drink. It wasn't until Jon worked up the courage during a break to finally talk to Ryan about music. Ten minutes later, Jon got an fateful offer to meet his band at his apartment that evening.

And now, eight years later, he's in a coffee house eating a lemon chicken wrap and downing it with an shaken iced lemonade tea with the band he had joined to only have it blow up in his face not even three years later. No one said anything to each other as they sat at the table closest to the entrance of the cafe, silently eating and drinking from a meal that ran nearly sixty dollars, not including the tip (that Brendon insisted on).

The briefcase was on top of the table, propped against the wall. It was plain and black, with padlocks on two ends keeping the case locked. There was no key to open it and no one knew the code to unlock it. It rested against the wall, black leather wrapping around a hard case with a mystery inside that taunted four men. Brendon had shaken the briefcase once they got out of the storage facility, much to Spencer’s protest of there being a bomb or something dangerous inside, and didn't hear or felt anything that could be life threatening inside.

Why Pete Wentz wanted  _ them _ to deliver something as minuscule as a briefcase with, assumingly, nothing inside was quite the mystery. There had to be more to the story than a trip to Las Vegas and a drop off point.

“ Aren't you hot?” Jon asked Brendon, trying to make conversation. Yeah, he was upset at the guy but he wasn't one for the silent treatment game.  Besides, they were about to be stuck inside his car for four hours without stopping so he might as well try to make the trip bearable for him. If Ryan and Spencer wanted to make the trip a miserable one, they could do that themselves.

Brendon looked up at Jon, the thick turkey sandwich in both of his hands half way between his mouth and the plate, with his usual ‘I’m listening’ face; raised eyebrows, alerted eyes, and a slight pout to his lips.

“ Me?” He affirmed. Jon nodded and Brendon chuckled. “ I suffer for beauty. I'm not hot.”

“ I'm hot and I'm just wearing a T-shirt and jeans.” Jon said. He nodded towards Brendon. “ Besides, you're sweating.”

Brendon put his sandwich down on the plate and felt his forehead. He knew he was sweating, he could feel the droplets of water forming along his brow and against his nape, but it was a subconscious reaction to a comment. He pulled his hand back, glance at the dampened digits and shrugged. 

“ It's L.A. Everyone wears something stupid in hot weather.” 

“ I guess.” Jon finished his sandwich with two bites and wiped his hands clean with a napkin. “ I guess I should break the ice since no one is bothering to talk. What have all of you guys been doing since, well, we imploded?”

Ryan took a sip from his ice tea, clearly avoiding the question. Spencer took a bite out of a slice of a dill pickle. Brendon picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Jon rolled his eyes with a huff. 

“ Fine. I guess I'll start since you all wanna be children.” He grumbled as he picked up his plastic cup of lemon tea and stabbed the ice with the straw. “ I got married. Went back into photography and started my own business. I have a kid, a little girl, now three and I've never been happier. Spencer, now you tell us how wonderful your life’s been these last five years.”

Spencer looked around the table, caught off guard at the sudden passing of the conversation baton, “ I, uh, well… I got married two years ago… and got my MBA too. No kids but we're considering. I also started a business, consulting and financial planning, and, um… Yeah. That's it.” 

Three pairs of eyes looked at Ryan. He slowly lifted his lips away from the straw of his drink like he was caught doing something, “ What?”

“ Life story sharing time.” Jon explained. “ Fill us in.”

“ I don't have anything to say.” Ryan sat up in his chair. 

“ Bullshit.” Jon crossed his arms. “ I've seen your name in the newspaper. You're the only guy I know that would add a dramatic flair to a story about a fight at a town hall meeting.”

“ Fine. I got a job at the local newspaper writing about local city government.” He took another sip from his drink. Well, that was the end of that life update.

“ I, uh, work at a salon in Beverly Hills.” Brendon said, clearing his throat. “ I'm a senior stylist and occasionally I perform at various piano bars around town….” He scratched his chin, ducking his head as a small smile graced his full lips, “ I also met a girl… a few years back and I've been planning on proposing to her but with all of this happening I haven't had the chance to.”

Jon and Spencer actually smiled. A genuine smile from where they sat, drinks long forgotten as they congratulated Brendon on finding the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Brendon took notice of their simple, gold wedding bands and commented on how weird it was that they were all about to settle down when not even a few years ago they were partying and trying to live the rock n’ roll life. Ryan looked unimpressed, moving the ice around in his cup with the straw.

Of course they could try and act like nothing has changed. That this was just one big happy reunion where everyone mutually decided to text each other and meet up at an overpriced cafe in Downtown L.A. If they wanted to give themselves that illusion, that was fine; it wasn't good enough for Ryan. 

It wasn't a reunion. They weren't on speaking terms. They had less than ten hours to make a delivery before potentially ending up dead in the desert somewhere and it was all Brendon Boyd Urie’s fault. No. Ryan refused to make light of this trip and play friends with Brendon.

“ You also perform at The Chirock, too, right?” He asked casually. Everyone stopped talking and Brendon looked at Ryan.

“ Y-yeah.” He responded, tongue tripping on words. “ Sometimes I'll get a booking request.”

“ Interesting. Then again it makes sense that someone like you would continue to work with a snake like Pete Wentz.”

Jon sighed, “ Ryan, things are already bad for us. Can you at least try to make this not so rough for the rest of us?”

“ What? So I'm supposed to sit here, across from this guy, and act like the last five years didn't happen? That because of him I could be killed by next morning because he managed to fuck up with Pete Wentz?”

“ Ryan…” Spencer warned. “ Not now.”

Ryan stood up abruptly.

“ It's  _ his _ fault the band broke up. It's  _ his _ fault we're in this situation today. I'm not gonna entertain his bullshit.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “ I-I gotta buy me a pack of cigarettes. I'll be back.”

Ryan hesitated for a brief moment, looking at the table, before quickly walking out of the cafe. The other three looked at the spot Ryan had just occupied and sat there silently, all feeling the sudden tension in the air around them. 

The last time any of them had been together as a group was five years ago, on a hot spring night in the middle of June. It had all went down in Spencer’s living room; heated words and accusations finally culminating to Ryan lunging at Brendon and punching him in the face and Jon and Spencer quickly pulling him off of the vocalist. Ryan had quit that night. Declaring the band was over and left, leaving Jon behind without a ride back to the apartment they were temporarily sharing.

Spencer had kicked them out that night, not wanting to see any of them, especially Brendon. Jon reluctantly rode with Brendon to a Denny’s, where Brendon tried to explain the situation, nursing his swollen cheek with a glass of ice, over vanilla milkshakes that Jon refused to touch. They ended that night with Jon silently getting out of the car at the apartment complex he and Ryan lived at. Brendon had also lived there, but, after what had happened decided to find another place to crash for the night.

A week later, Jon and Ryan had moved out, and Brendon was left with a half empty two bedroom apartment. Jon’s situation was temporary so it wasn't a shock to Brendon; he had only been there for about a month, waiting for the paperwork to clear so he could move into a new place with his then-fiancé. It was Ryan’s departure that was a shock.

They had met at a salon, bonded over music, and had grown extremely close over the years. Ryan had always confided in him, always reminded him that he felt comfortable knowing that Brendon was the only one who could bring his words to life. That he trusted him with his deepest most feelings. Brendon never considered that they would fall apart the way they did that night.

He had hoped that Ryan would have moved on. He didn't.

Spencer got up from the table, grabbing his drink as he stood up. 

“ I'll go talk to him.” Spencer said then walked out of the cafe leaving Brendon and Jon at the table.

Brendon glanced at his sandwich, or the quarter of what was left of it. Jon stroked his heated chin as if in thought. He shrugged shortly after, crossing his arms, and leaned back in his chair.

“ I'm still mad at you for what you did.” Jon simply stated matter-of-fact. “ I am definitely going to give you a piece of my mind one of these days but today is not that day.”

Brendon slumped in his chair, “ I.. appreciate it. I'm sorry for, like, how everything went down. I just felt that.. at the time… It was a dream, you know? And, well--”

“ I said today is not that day.” Brendon nodded. “ If we get into  _ that _ topic, I'm sure Pete would be the last thing for you to worry about. Ryan’s apparently pretty sore about it.”

Jon’s brown eyes lingered on the door behind Brendon. Brendon rubbed the back of his head and moved it side to side, working out the kinks. They sat there quiet for a few moments before Brendon stood up. Jon stood up and stretched. He made his way around the table and gave Brendon a pat on the shoulder.

“ Let’s take a trip to Vegas and have a good ol’ time bonding.”

Brendon grabbed the briefcase off the table.

“ Like the old days.”

“ Exactly. I have enough stress in my life as it is.” 

Jon chuckled and Brendon finally loosened up, laughing alongside him as they left the cafe.

It didn't make sense to Jon to always carry animosity over his shoulders. Yeah, he was mad, and yeah, he was definitely going to sit Brendon down after all of this was over and speak to him about what had happened that night and why he decided to cut him off. Now wasn't the time for that. He understood the importance of making sure that everyone worked together as a team, not as a group of conflicting egos trying to have the last final word.

Outside of the cafe, Ryan brought the cigarette to his lips, his hand shaking ever so slightly, and lit it with the cheap one dollar lighter with his other hand. He sucked in the smoke like a man quenching his thirst after days in the desert and exhaled, finally feeling his body relax after a tense morning. Ryan leaned against the building, took another drag and offered it to Spencer, who stood next to him. Spencer shook his head.

“ I quit smoking,” Spencer explained. “ Drinking too. All of it.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow and brought the cigarette back to his lips, “ Oh. That's nice.” He took another drag.

“ I know why you're angry. It's justified… and I still have my issues with him but we need to work together if we want to make it out of this alive.” 

“ Trust me, I understand. It doesn't mean I should laugh it off and act like what he did never happened.”

Ryan flicked the ash onto the pavement. Spencer sighed.

“ I know… but I know you and I'm telling you to just let it go. For now. Just for today.”

Ryan tossed the cigarette on to the floor and stepped on it, putting it out against the dirty concrete of the sidewalk. 

“ I can't be like the rest of you. I can't be like  _ him  _ and act like none of it happened.” Spencer frowned. “ But I'll play nice. I won’t say anything.”

Spencer sighed, “ Thanks, Ryan.”

“ I don't want to die tonight.” He added with a sardonic smirk. 

Spencer looked over Ryan, noticing Brendon and Jon leave the cafe with smiles on their faces. He wondered what had happened inside after they left, but Spencer also knew that Jon was a guy that avoided conflict whenever possible by just keeping his problems to himself. Spencer doubted the two cleared up whatever animosity was between them, but at least Jon was willing to work with Brendon without bringing up that night.

“ So, anybody got the time?” Brendon asked as he put his sunglasses on with his free hand, the other holding the briefcase. Spencer looked at his phone.

“ It’s 1:49pm. We have about five hours to get to Vegas.”

“ It's a Friday too, so traffic is going to be a bitch.” Brendon clicked his tongue. “ I guess we should get going then!”

Brendon walked up to Ryan and looked at him from behind his dark sunglasses. The taller man was expressionless as he pushed himself off the wall and walked away, towards the car that was parallel parked up the street. Rather than talk about it, everyone followed Ryan back to the car. Once they got to the car, Brendon noticed a ticket on the windshield.

“ Oh, fuck. No…. You … gotta be kidding me!” He exclaimed as he ran over to the driver side. He took the ticket off of the windshield, quickly glancing over the citation and then took a few steps back and looked at the rear tire. “ Fuck!”

“ What’s the matter?” Jon asked. The three were standing on the sidewalk with curious expressions. Obviously something was wrong but it was just a parking ticket; people got those all the time in Downtown L.A.

“ We’re fucked. That’s the matter.” Brendon spat as he gave the rear tire a firm kick. Ryan ran over to him and grabbed the citation out of his hand. He gave it a read through and then looked at the issue at hand that was attached to the rear tire of Brendon’s car.

A nice, bright orange wheel clamp.

Ryan started laughing, “ You have got to be kidding me.”

“ What’s wrong, Ryan?” Spencer asked. Ryan motioned for them to come around the car and when they arrived he pointed to the orange obstruction in question. 

The two men groaned, Jon running a hand down his face while Spencer turned around, rubbing his temples. He turned around and pointed to the clamp with outstretched hands. 

“ What do we do now? We can’t move the car.” Spencer said disbelievingly. “ How do we get this off the car?”

“ He owes on parking tickets. There’s no way we’re getting that off today without a trip to the DMV.” Ryan said dryly as he handed Spencer the citation. “ So we might as well consider ourselves screwed. Lets use the time we have to call the funeral home to plan our funerals.”

Jon looked at the wheel clamp, “ Yeah, no.”

“ You have ten unpaid parking tickets, Brendon? Are you serious?” Spencer scoffed as he read the citation. “ And you didn't think that wouldn't be a problem?”

“ Look. I've been all over this county and not once have I ever had a problem with the police, okay?” 

“ Well, we have a problem now.”

“ Who puts a boot on a car in the middle of Downtown?! Like who does that?!” Brendon exclaimed as he pointed to the wheel clamp. 

“ Someone who decided to park their car in a no parking zone.” Ryan pointed to a sign a couple of feet away down the road. NO PARKING BETWEEN 9 - 6 was written on it in large red letters. The group began to take notice of the signs and how they were spaced apart every two to four feet. 

“ Come on, man! How was I supposed to know that?!” Brendon suddenly exclaimed. He pointed down the road, opposite of the row of signs. “ There's no signs down there!”

“ What difference does it make?! We're stuck here with no way to get to Vegas and it's not like you have the cash to rent a car!” Spencer said, exasperated with the situation. There was one thing that Spencer knew was guaranteed with their group; when things are good, it's bound to go bad very quickly. It was like natural law. Nothing could change it, even if they haven't spoken to each other in five years.

“ Lets just call Pete and explain the situation.” Jon suggested. Ryan scoffed.

“ And what? Tell him that Brendon not only owes him two thousand dollars but that he owes the State of California fifteen hundred in parking tickets? I’m sure he'll have mercy on us and tell us to forget about it.” He said, voice thick in dry sarcasm. 

“ Got any better ideas?” Jon spat back. 

“ I know of someone with a car we can borrow that'll get us to Vegas.” Brendon said as he pulled out his iPhone. “ We’ll just grab an Uber there and, like, ask him to drive us.”

“ Why don't you just ask him to pick us up?” Spencer asked as Brendon tapped onto to his phone. 

He didn't look up from his phone, “ It's a long story. Anyway, Uber should be here in five minutes.”

Five minutes became ten minutes as the Toyota Camry driven by Paul with an average star rating of four stars arrived five minutes late. The four of them shoved themselves into the car and silently listened to Paul ramble on about how much he hated L.A. traffic but did the Uber thing anyway because it sort of paid well. 

“ No offense, Jim,” Spencer began. The young driver shrugged his shoulders at the mistake. 

“ It's Paul but that's cool.” Paul said jovially with a smile.

“ Okay, Paul, um, were not having a really good day so if you could just drive us there without talking I'd greatly appreciate it.”

“ Yeah, sure. Cool, dude.” 

Paul managed to stay quiet for ten minutes before launching into another rant about government conspiracies and keeping his third eye open. They arrived at the home of the person Brendon knew forty minutes later. They quickly got out of the car, not even bothering to say goodbye to the driver and ignoring his requests for a five star review. He drove off leaving them standing in the driveway where a silver Dodge Caravan was parked.

“ Your friend’s place?” Jon asked. Brendon chewed on his lower lip.

“ Acquaintance?”

“ Right…”

Brendon started up the driveway, with the other three following behind him. They looked around, not recognizing the neighborhood or the bike. This obviously was someone neither of them had known, but given the way Brendon was acting, it seemed like he didn't know the guy much at all either.

Once they got to the door, Brendon took a deep breath and exhaled before ringing the doorbell. It didn't take long for the person to open the door, revealing a tall, young gentlemen in a grey button down shirt and jeans. He looked at the man standing at his doorway with an indescribable expression. 

“ Hey, Dallon…!” Brendon greeted followed by a nervous chuckle. 

“ Hi, Brendon.” Dallon replied, his hand on the doorknob. He glanced at the other three men behind him and then looked at Brendon again. “ I'm busy, sorry.”

The door slammed in Brendon’s face for the fourth time that day. The other three broke out in laughter behind Brendon, clapping their hands and leaning against each other. They didn't even know the guy but the fact he had reacted the same way that they had earlier that morning was too funny not to laugh at. Then, they slowly stopped laughing, realizing that actually something was a bit off when Brendon seemed manage to get himself on the shit lists of everyone he presumably knew.

“ I’m starting to notice a trend here…” Spencer whispered.

“ The ambushing to get what he wants technique?” Ryan whispered back.

“ Yep.”

The door opened again and Dallon had reappeared. He looked like a Suburban Dad; too vanilla and full of a dad jokes, with his collar shirt and pants, a pair of thick rimmed glasses hanging from the pocket of the shirt.

“ Sorry, I forgot something.”

The next thing he did, though, was very unlike a Suburban Dad. Suddenly his fist instantaneously made contact with Brendon’s eye before the shorter and younger man had a chance to dodge. Brendon went stumbling back into Jon, cradling the side of his face. Jon held Brendon upright, completely speechless. Ryan and Spencer looked at the scene with wide eyes. Slamming doors was one thing, giving black eyes were another.

“ The fuck! Dude!” Brendon moaned, as he cowered further into Jon, who at this point didn’t know whether to rub his back and coo in his ear like he was a little boy or just let him fall to the ground and encourage a L.A. beatdown with the other guys while he was still on the ground. Instead he just let him go, taking a step backwards away from the door.

“ I told you the next time I saw you I was going to punch your lights out.” He said plainly, leaning against the doorway, as if this was another day and this was actually a normal thing to do. 

“ So did Ryan but he didn’t actually  _ do _ it!” Brendon spat. Dallon raised an eyebrow and looked at the group.

“ That’d be me.” Ryan said, raising his hand. “ Nice to meet you.”

“ Nice to meet you, too.” Dallon said with a nod. “ So, uh, you’re friends with this guy over here?” He pointed to Brendon briefly before tucking his hand back under his elbow.

“ No.” The three said in unison. 

“ Same.” Dallon smiled. 

Brendon slowly began to recover, his hands outstretched as he blinked a few times. Ever the drama queen, Ryan dryly noted to himself. Dallon stepped aside, motioning for the guys to enter his home. The three wordlessly took up his offer, pushing past Brendon with a bit more force than necessary. He finally recovered and looked at Dallon who looked back with an unimpressed expression written all over his face.

“ I think you punched my contact into my skull…” Brendon mumbled as pressed his index and middle finger against the skin under his eye.

“ You wanna come in?” Dallon pushed himself off the doorframe. “ Close the door on your way in.”

He stepped back inside his home. Brendon hissed in pain as he pressed against the swelling skin and begrudgingly entered Dallon’s home, closing the door behind him. 

His house was  _ nice _ to it put it simply. Roomy and comfortable. He definitely had money. There were pictures of his family hanging everywhere, mostly of his children. Even evidence of their existence even littered across the living room with toys and coloring books. Where did Brendon meet this guy, Spencer and Ryan wanted to know. But as they saw the collection of bass guitars sitting on stands in the den adjacent to the living room, they figured it had to be related to music in some way.

It always ended up coming back to music.

Dallon handed Brendon a small ziplock bag full of ice and told him to press it against the swelling. He didn’t apologize and Brendon didn’t bother to press him for one, wordlessly taking the bag of ice and pressing it against the injury.

“ I have a feeling that I know why you’re here, Brendon, but I just wanna hear it directly from the source.” Dallon said cooly with a small amused smile as he leaned his weight against the kitchen counter. 

“ How did you find out?” Brendon asked, followed up with a groan of pain.

“ Word travels fast in the music scene here.” He said with a shrug. “ Found out during a session I played for. You do know that he’s the son of Peter Wentz, right? Whatever you do to piss off Junior is bound to make its rounds throughout Hollywood.”

“ Yeah, but, it's not like his son is legitimate or anything.”

“ Doesn’t matter. Anyway, what does any of this have to do with me?”

“ My car got booted. I --  _ we _ \-- need a ride to Vegas. Obviously you must know why.”

“ Right.” Dallon crossed his arms. “ No.”

“ No to you don’t know or no to I’m not helping.”

“ No to I’m not helping.”

Brendon groaned, “ Come on, Dallon. I thought we were friends.”

“ No,  _ I  _ thought we were friends. You obviously thought I was just some hired help.” 

Jon cleared his throat rather loudly. Everyone looked at him and he put his hands into the pocket of his jeans, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“ Yeah, I think we all can agree that we have some personal beef against Brendon here but we don’t have  _ time _ to hash it all out right now. We have less than four hours to get to Vegas and that briefcase needs to get there.” Jon looked at Dallon. “ I’m sorry to impede on you like this but we’re running out of options and would appreciate if you could drive us to Las Vegas.”

“ I stopped working for Pete for a reason.” Dallon said without even having to point it out. The reason was clearly all over the home in pictures, the toys lying about, and the gold band around his left ring finger.

“ I get it. I think we all get it but as you may clearly know there’s a lot more at stake here.”

The attention went from Jon to the guy in the leather jacket holding a bag of ice against his eye and a briefcase in the other. He looked at them and blinked.

“ What.”

At that moment it was like four people finally were on the same, unanimous wavelength as they looked at Brendon with deadpan expressions. He, the vocalist that came into their lives with jokes and smiles, only to flip it upside down and rip it all apart like a raging bull in a glass store. Yeah, that guy who was now nursing a black eye and holding a black briefcase that belonged to Pete Wentz, a sadistic club owner with too much free time and Daddy privileges. 

Dallon sighed, “ Whatever. Let me grab my keys.” He walked over to the bowl sitting on the shelf that was attached to the wall next to the front door. He turned around after grabbing his set of keys, looking at Brendon. “ You’re paying for the gas.” 

A grey Dodge Caravan pulled out of the driveway of a suburban southern California neighborhood containing five grown men sitting inside with a destination to Nevada. Brendon sat up in the front seat, briefcase on his lap, while the other three sat in the back two rows of seats. 

“ How did you two meet?” Ryan asked as the van took off down the road. Jon reached underneath him and pulled out a doll that he had mistaken sat on. He tossed it behind him into the trunk. Dallon flexed his fingers around the wheel.

“ We met at The Chirock. I started working there as a bassist for the house band and he was the singer. This was a couple of years ago, maybe three.”

Ryan hummed in a way that Spencer gave him a pointed look. Ryan ignored his childhood friend, deciding to continue digging for more information from this man named Dallon who managed to do the ultimate deed for the sake of humankind; punching Brendon Urie in the face. Unaware of the silent conversation Ryan and Spencer were having behind him, Dallon continued.

“ We started talking. He said he had a band and needed a bassist and well…. Obviously that didn’t end so well.”

“ Really? I didn’t know he had a band. What was the name of the band?”

“ Actually, I think we should turn on the radio. How about that, Dallon? Can I turn on the radio?” Brendon quickly interjected. Dallon gave Brendon a few glances with a raised eyebrow. Ryan crossed his long legs, leaning back in the seat.

“ No, I think we  _ all _ should hear the name to Brendon’s new band.” Ryan said with a sigh of indifference.

“ Ryan…” Spencer warned. “ I thought we talked about this…”

Dallon glanced up at the rear view mirror at Ryan and Spencer and then he looked at Brendon. Suddenly it all clicked.

“ Oh. You’re the former band members.”

All that needed to be known was said with that comment. Ryan started chuckling while Spencer buried his face in his hands, muffling a groan. They all had agreed that the band was done and over with that night. Ryan had heard from the grapevine that Brendon was still going around town performing under the band’s name, but he didn’t actually believe any of it. How could there be a Panic at the Disco when there was no band left? No guitarist, no drummer, no bassist… Nothing left but a vocalist and his keyboard.

But to have his suspicion confirmed that Brendon was still trying to make his band a thing without him? Well, Ryan was surprised that he had not punched out his other eye right then in there in the van. He sighed loudly, running a hand down his face. He couldn’t wait for this day to be over with and to be able to finally cut him out of his life for good.

“ So, I heard you play the bass,” Jon said in an attempt to change the topic. Dallon nodded. “ I play the bass too.”

“ Oh. How’s that going for you? Still play it?” 

The van merged onto I-15 at 3:15 in the afternoon; but Dallon and Jon hadn’t noticed to time, too involved in their conversation about bass guitars and keeping their kids away from touching their studio equipment. If Dallon wasn’t driving, the two fathers probably would have been sharing photos with each other and doing things most young fathers would do that completely went over the heads of the other three in the car. It was a bit surreal to go from talking about girls, getting high, and videos to now having conversations about kids and wives and family. Was it a telltale sign of them getting older? Who knew. 

Unfortunately for the other three, not having kids was a curse that reminded them of the time they had remaining before Pete’s next check in. At the speed in which Dallon was driving, they were beginning to doubt that they were going to make it to Las Vegas by six in the evening. 

Ryan only hoped Brendon was a good with his negotiation skills as he was with his lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was debating posting this on Friday like I had mentioned but I'm impatient. So there's really no schedule for this story. 
> 
> I have a list of things to happen, lol. So yes, Brendon getting a boot on his car and Dallon punching him was on the list. I'm putting Brendon through a lot but it's for a good reason.
> 
> And yes, Ryan is really sore about the band and Brendon. But it will go a lot deeper than that.... :)
> 
> Thanks for the kudos, bookmarks, and for reading!


	5. Friday, 5:35pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic! at the Disco manages to make it to Vegas but not without hiccups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this actually happened

**Friday, 5:35pm  
6 hours 25 minute left**

* * *

Like every other musician with stars in their eyes, Dallon Weekes left to California to do what he loved most: music. He and his wife packed their small car and made the hours long journey to golden state with his dreams in one hand and the determination of making them a reality in the other. Even with the birth of his children, he wanted to become a respectable musician that his family could look up to for inspiration and security knowing that his talent gave them a comfortable life.

It wasn't easy. There was a time when auditions were far and few between or gigs weren't paying as promised or he ran into disagreements over what he was willing to do or where he was willing to play. He was great full, oh so grateful to be married to a woman who was rock to keep him grounded and supported him through the bad and good times.

Getting the gig at The Chirock appeared to be the step he needed to take to finally get his foot through the door in the industry. If you were a musician or a band and wanted to attract the attention of a record executive or an A&R staffer, being booked at The Chirock was the ultimate goal to achieve. Being able to play at the house band would have definitely opened more doors with the continuous exposure.

It was there that Dallon met Brendon; an eccentric young individual who had a bubbly, infectious personality and a talent that seemed to be wasted covering rock classics every Thursday night for Throwback Thursday. They had hit it off immediately, finding a lot in common musically as well as personally. Both had a connection to Utah, both were Mormon, and both had wanted to be in a band and make it big.

“ So what about it?” Brendon had asked, sitting on top of the counter in the small dressing room backstage of The Chirock. The music could be heard from the other side of the wall, the crowd screaming for the current act on stage, a local band performing pop punk covers that sounded better after three beers than sober. Dallon looked at his reflection in the mirror as he adjusted his black bow tie.

“ Joining your band?” He asked. Brendon nodded and hooked his thumbs into the suspenders he was wearing, stretching them outward. 

“ I think we could create some great stuff together, you know?” He released the suspenders with a snap and winced with a laugh.

Dallon looked at Brendon and smiled, “ Yeah, why not. I think we could really do it!” He gave the shorter man a pat on the back. “ No longer have to do covers of Queen songs anymore.”

“ Hey! I actually enjoy singing those.” He cleared his throat then sang an infamous bridge from a Queen song. “ Somebody tooooo... loooooveeee…” 

Brendon got off the counter and turned around to face the mirror. Dallon hunched over, resting his hands on the counter to support his weight. Brendon wrapped an arm around him, bringing him closer, and looked at their reflections in the mirror. They were wearing white dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up, black suspenders, bow tie, and black dress pants. It had been Brendon’s idea to have everyone dress the same; it made them look more like a band and less like a mishmash of musicians on stage, or so was his excuse.

“ Besides, we look absolutely great together.”

It had worked. 

For a short while. 

But it was nice while it had lasted.

The sun was beginning to set behind them as Dallon continued driving to Las Vegas. The desert scenery was gradually being painted with a orange hue, transforming the sand and rocks around them into a angry, red planet reminiscent of a retro science fiction movie set. To the east, the horizon was increasingly dim, the twilight approaching and a reminder of the limited time they had left.

Jon had managed to keep the conversation going for the first hour before they ran out of things to talk about that didn't involve Brendon in some form. The second hour involved a debate over who had the most iconic presence in glam rock of the late 1970s, a conversation that involved everyone in the car (except for Ryan, who decided to take a nap). Now they were pushing into the last hour of the ride and everyone was asleep save for Dallon and Brendon.

Brendon played with the latches on the suitcase with his thumbs idly as he watched the cars pass by, some with their headlights on, some without. Cars filled with families, but many with solo riders with trucks packed with boxes and suitcases. To Hollywood! it screamed, with dreams and aspirations of greatness packed into twenty year old cars running on its last leg. No different than him nearly a decade ago, packed into Ryan’s black 1989 Mazda 323 hatchback, with dreams of becoming big.

Now, they were heading back to Vegas, but at each other’s throats. Where had it all gone wrong?

“ You don’t hide your emotions well.” Dallon said with his eyes still on the road. Brendon chuckled, brushing the top of the suitcase with his right hand.

“ I get that a lot.”

“ I understand why they’re mad. I’m mad. I understand you have a dream, we all have dreams, but you can’t just… _do_ _that_ to people and expect them to be cool with it.”

“ The situation with them is a bit different.” Brendon said with a sigh. “ But I apologize.”

“ I honestly thought we were a band. I thought what we were doing was going good. We were writing a lot of music together so I just don’t understand why you felt the need to just write me off at the last minute once the audition came up. But you did knowing how important that was to me.” Dallon laughed. “ I honestly don’t think you’re sorry, either.”

The audition was a year ago. Dallon could vividly remember the day that they had received a call from an A&R scout for a label that was owned by Warner Music. The band was scheduled to perform a few songs for one of the executives and if they liked what they had heard, they would have had a record deal. They were practicing for hours upon hours, rewriting parts of songs while creating new ones. Deciding on what ones to perform; covers or originals. Highlight Brendon’s vocal range or Dallon’s musicianship?

Two days before the audition, Dallon got a call from Brendon saying the audition was canceled. He later found out Brendon had lied to him. There was an audition; Brendon simply decided to do it alone. Dallon had long quit working for The Chirock at that point, but he severed ties with Brendon immediately, focusing on his own music and building his career as a session and touring artist.

“ It's a lot more complicated than that.” Brendon said, a roughness to his voice that caught Dallon’s attention. “ There was a lot going on that I should have told you but I didn’t.”

“ You sound like a dead man walking.” He scoffed. “ If you weren’t in this situation I’d never hear that apology.”

From behind them, Ryan slowly stirred awake. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up in his seat, trying not to be conspicuous as he listened to the conversation the two men in the front were having.Glancing over to the left of him, he saw Spencer asleep with his head lulled back into the head rest. He slightly turned around in the seat, looking into the back row where Jon was sprawled out sleeping. He turned back around carefully and leaned back, resting his head against the glass as he listened onto the conversation.

“ It's complicated. It's not like I wanted to do it that way.” Brendon scratched his chin. “ There was some factors behind the scene that you don't know about that made me do what I did.”

“ What type of factors?”

Dallon was surprisingly calm for a guy who had violently assaulted the person he was speaking to only hours earlier. Ryan wondered if that patience came with the kids package or was it something that you just learn as you got older. He’d found out half way into the trip that Dallon was a good five years older than him when he had listened to the debate over Freddie Mercury and David Bowie.

His wife was at her parents for the weekend with the kids for her father’s birthday. Dallon had decided to stay behind to finish working on a few songs he was writing for his self-produced album. Besides, he was booked for a session on Sunday to record some bass lines and Monday evening he was due to fly out to be on tour for the next two months. 

Why he wasn't more upset that he was stuck driving his family’s van to Las Vegas, potentially getting involved in something dangerous and putting his obligations on the line for Brendon Urie didn't make much sense to Ryan. Maybe it was just his personality.

Brendon sighed loudly, running fingers through his hair.

“ I was told by someone to not let you in. It would not have worked out if we went as planned. They told me to suggest to you that you'd be better as a touring member if I had signed.”

“ That you did.” Dallon laughs, repeating himself as if he was finding it hard to believe that the person he had considered to be a friend sold him out. 

“ I owe that person a lot. It wasn't like I could walk away and tell him no directly.”

“ So you go to a label audition after lying to me that it was cancelled because someone stroked your little ego. Ha, you have some real balls there, Brendon.”

“ It was Pete, wasn't it?”

Brendon turned around in the chair at the sound of Ryan’s voice. The guitarist sat with an indifferent expression on his face, arms crossed, and leaning back into the seat. Brendon opened his mouth but he couldn't say anything, so he turned back around in his seat and decided to stay silent. 

Ryan chuckled. “ It always goes back to Pete.”

“ Why would Pete do that?” Dallon asked, not to anyone in particular. 

“ You must have did something that Mister Wentz did not like.” Ryan said as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “ And as we all did, you underestimated what influence he had in Hollywood.”

“ The only thing I did was quit the house band once I found out he was running an illegal poker club in the VIP.” Dallon said firmly. “ I wasn't going to jeopardize my family by being associated with him or that club if anything went down with the police.”

“ No one quits on Pete Wentz.” Ryan looked at Brendon. “ Isn't that right, Brendon?”

“ … Yeah.” Brendon admitted quietly. 

“ Don't be ashamed,  _ Bren _ ,” Ryan said with a roll of his eyes. He drawled on the old nickname he used to have for his former friend, knowing it would rub him the wrong way. “ Everyone knows that you're the most loyal to Pete and wouldn't betray him for anyone. If Pete told Brendon here to jump, he'd not only jump but ask how high.”

“ That's not true.”

“ Then what do you call all of this? Why are we all here today, Brendon?”

“ This is different, Ryan, and you know it.”

“ How is this any different than before?”

“ Because I…” Brendon stumbled on the words that were about to spill from his mouth.

“ Because you didn't bother to think how your actions would impact the people you know. Yeah, you borrowed two thousand from Pete, but you didn't stop to think how Pete would use everything against you to get that money back. You think this is all a coincidence? He wanted to make this drop the most difficult experience of your life by dragging all of us into it.”

“ Why do you always insist on making everything bigger than what it is, Ryan?” Brendon asked pointedly. 

“ What else  _ would _ you call all of this then, Brendon? You thought Pete was your friend? He's nobody's friend! Not even to himself.”

The van drove past a sign that said twenty miles to Las Vegas. The sky was quickly darkening at that point, night reclaiming the hot desert and cooling the sands. Unfortunately it could not cool down the impending fight that was brewing in the silver Dodge Caravan. 

“ I don't think Pete is my friend! But he's helped me and I can't deny that!”

“ Oh, yeah. He’s helped you, alright. By pushing everyone close to you away by making you think you’re this starchild in his little show.” Ryan started laughing at what he considered to be absurd about the entire situation. “ He's playing with you! You honestly think he has your best interests in mind? Year after  _ year _ and you still haven't scored that record deal he’s been dangling over your head. He wants you because he knows that if he loses you his stupid club would be nothing!”

Ryan had been yelling at that point, enough to wake up Spencer from his nap. He slowly leaned forward, rubbing the kink out of the back of his neck. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, finding his bearing. Still in the car but now it was dark; the person next to him was visibly angry. The driver (Dallon, was it?), was very quiet but obviously focused on the conversation (argument) currently being had between Brendon (the idiot) in the front and Ryan (the drama queen) next to him.

Brendon drummed his fingers against the briefcase pensively. Ryan scoffed, fed up with the entire situation, and leaned back into seat. He crossed his legs and looked outside the window at the twilight that had now become the scenery outside. Dark blue and purple skies with a warm orange horizon, gradually giving way to the darkness of night. 

“ I didn't go to the audition at Warner.”

His voice was tiny, quiet, unlike his usual bombastic tenor. The sound of the wheels against the pavement and the wind cutting through, it was barely audible. Dallon looked at Brendon.

“ You didn't do what?”

“ I didn't go. I couldn't do it.” He dropped his face into his hands. “ Jesus fucking Christ, I can't do this alone anymore…” He mumbled.

“ Then why didn't you tell me? Why did you let me think that you stabbed me in the back?” 

Brendon shook his head, “ I don't know. I don't… handle criticism well, I guess.”

“ It's not that he can't handle criticism,” Ryan began, still looking outside at the hills and rocks fading into black. For someone who had just been yelling not even ten minutes ago, his voice was unusually quiet. “ It's that he can't handle the truth.”

Dallon switched lanes, “ For all that it's worth, I feel even more vindicated for punching you.”

“ Guys…. how far are we from Vegas?” 

Jon asked warily as he slowly sat up in the back of the van, looking at his smartphone in hand. He looked out the back window, but it was now pitch black outside save for the bright headlights from the vehicles behind them. 

“ Because it's six o’clock.” 

He held out his phone for everyone to see. Spencer grabbed the phone from Jon and looked at the lock screen. In large font in the top center of the screen over a picture of Jon’s smiling wife and child, was 6:00. A few seconds later, the zero became a one and from the front of the van, a familiar ringtone started to ring from the back pocket of Brendon’s jeans. 

Everyone felt as if they had broken out into a cold sweat. The muffled xylophone jingle resonated throughout the van like a siren waiting to be answered. They knew who was calling; Pete was never a person to break his promises. He was well known for manipulating situations into his favor but being late was not one of them. Brendon pulled out his phone and glanced at the caller id: Pete. 

He pressed the green answer button and brought the phone to his ear, “ Yeah, Pete! Ah, r-right. Okay.” Brendon pressed the speaker button and held the phone away from him so everyone could hear.

“ Am I on speaker?” Pete asked lacking the animosity they had expected to hear. Then again, Pete was good at masking his emotions when the situation required it. 

“ Yeah, you are.”

“ So… where are you guys? I thought we agreed for six o’clock, no?”

“ Well, we kind of ran into some problems…” Brendon licked his lips. “ And uh, that sort of delayed things.”

“ I gave you six hours. It takes half that to get to Vegas.” It sounded like Pete was at a party. There was cheering in the background and loud electronic music. “ I’ve been waiting here for two hours with my partner.”

“ I apologize for that, Pete, but it was honestly beyond my control.”

“ I don’t know how you can apologize for being  _ late _ to my very important meeting. Hold on.” Someone, a male by the sound of it, was asking for Pete. The guys in the car couldn’t make much of the conversation, but from how calm Pete sounded, it didn’t seem like anything important. “ Sorry. Can you put Jon on the phone?”

“ Uh, s-sure.” 

Brendon passed the phone to Spencer. He carefully handed the phone over to Jon who looked at everyone in the car as if he was holding the detonator to a ticking time bomb. Granted, given how quickly Pete could flip on someone, the comparison wasn’t that far off. 

“ Hi… Pete…” Jon greeted with an uncertainty. Pete laughed on the other end.

“ Oh, Jon! There’s no need to sound like that. We’re friends, you know? Fellow Chicagoans and all that stuff!”

“ Yeah…! Right…”

“ I trust you, Jon. You know that, right? Because you’re from Chicago.  _ I _ .  _ trust _ .  _ you _ .” Pete broke from the conversation for a moment to yell at someone at the party. “ Anyway, I trust you enough to know that you wouldn’t lie to me. So, tell me what happened.” 

“ Uh… well… We had car troubles and so… that delayed us, uh, about a few hours.” 

Pete was unusually silent on his end.

Jon looked at everyone in the car. They looked at him.

Laughter from the phone. Almost hysterical.

“ Fine, fine, fine,  _ fine _ . Okay! I believe you because I trust you, Jon Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt Walker _. _ ” Pete started giggling. “ You have thirty minutes to get here.”

The phone line went dead. 

“ I think he’s high.” Jon said after a minute or two. He passed the phone to Spencer.

“ If he’s high then that’s a good thing.” Spencer said as he handed the phone back to Brendon. “ He’s usually a lot more … flexible to work with.”

“ Depends on what he’s high on.” Ryan duly noted. He leaned over to see the time on the stereo system. “ We need to be there by 7:05.”

Distant on the horizon, the lights of the Vegas Strip could be see from where they were. Bright lights of sin and temptation lighting the sin like a beacon. The closer they got to the city, the more Ryan began to reminiscence about the city he had called home years ago. He hadn't been back in years, figuring that to return without accomplishing what he had set out to do in the first place would be a shame in itself. Having to return against his will was not what he had in mind when he would think about the triumphant return to the city of sin.

Brendon liked to compare hanging out on the strip like swimming with the sharks until they eventually drowned. Nothing good ever came from Las Vegas, just predators praying on weak willed people hoping to change their lives with a stroke of luck. But was that really true of the town? It seemed as if Los Angeles was far more unforgiving than Las Vegas. If life in Vegas was like swimming amongst the sharks, then Los Angeles was like living with the wolves.

Ryan was a child of the sinful city. His entire childhood was built upon the dreams and tears of people; cashing away hope through addiction masked by clouds of cigarette smoke and glasses of cheap draft beer. His father had worked the casinos as a dealer, running poker and blackjack tables. It paid decently, sometimes well if his father decided to fix a game upon the house’s orders. He didn't get to have the perfect life but, for whatever it was worth, it shaped him into what he was now.

Ryan and his father didn't have much in common as he grew older. The only thing they really ever bonded over was with a game of cards. It was those nights over TV dinners and the haze of his father’s cigarettes that Ryan learned the magic of dealing. At first, to lean how to shuffle cards and learning all the cool tricks to impress the girls at school. But then it had evolved into an genuine interest once he realized there was more to it than flipping cards and playing tricks.

Shuffling a deck to pull out the cards you want every time just to trick the house or the player. He learned that there was a lot of power behind understanding the power of controlling the deck. It had became a hobby, something he did in the college dorms to earn a few bucks for the week, but he never imagine it going any further. He didn't want it to go further.

Well, until Ryan met Pete Wentz.

One would think that a struggling musician would meet the infamous son of a label executive through music. But that was not the case. It was through a call for a poker dealer. Ryan wanted to get into The Chirock and the only way he knew how was to become a dealer for Pete’s underground business.

For a decent percentage of the night’s earnings, Ryan worked for Pete’s illegal poker club in the back of The Chirock’s VIP as a card dealer, just so he could make enough money survive while the band struggled to write music. It didn't matter he had graduated cum laude from UNLV; what mattered was the card tricks he learned from his father work at a casino.

A child of Vegas, indeed.

Driving past the famous Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign felt like things were coming full circle for Ryan. It was the casinos that shaped his life and the casinos that made him cross paths with Pete Wentz. It was the city that gave birth to his band and ultimately destroyed it.

Swimming with the sharks, living amongst the wolves. 

Ryan could feel his heart drop as the van pulled into The Palms hotel and casino. It was as if he had been pushed under water, back with the sharks, as he saw Pete standing outside with outstretched arms and a grin that seemed more predatory than happy. The van stopped just short of a couple of feet from Pete.

He was still dressed in his typical fashion of hoodies and jeans. But with the way the hotel staff ignored his blatant disregard for the flow of drop off traffic at the hotel’s entrance, it was presumably known that the small man carried a hell of a lot more influence than his appearance let on.

Brendon hesitantly lowered the window as Pete rounded to his side of the van.

“What the hell happened to your face?!” Pete laughed. Brendon slowly pointed to the driver of the van. He looked across Brendon at Dallon and gave the tall man an infectious smile that only seemed to crawl under the bassist skin.

“ Dallon Weekes! Hello!” Pete greeted with a wave. Dallon nodded his head in acknowledgement but said nothing more. “ So it was true then! You did have car troubles and you managed to get the other bassist to drive you here? My man, Brendon Urie, you certainly have a way with getting the band back together! ”

“ That wasn't my intentions but, uh, thanks?”

Pete slapped Brendon on the arm with a laugh.

“ Don't ever doubt your talents because you are a man of many.” Pete winked at Brendon and the other man chuckled nervously. Pete leaned through the window, resting his arms against the window opening, and looked inside the van. He pushed Brendon aside as if he was an obstacle blocking his view to get a better look at the back seats. “ And the long lost members of Panic at the Disco arrive in one piece!”

“ Well, we tried.” Brendon said, giving the briefcase a pat.

Pete slapped the car door and pulled back, “ Let’s relax and talk over some drinks! You guys have to meet my partner!” Dallon opened his mouth but Pete was already ahead of him. “ You too, Dallon! I've missed you!”

Inwardly, Dallon cursed as he looked down at his hands on the steering wheel. He took a deep breath, exhaled and said a silent prayer before looking back up at Pete’s grinning face.

“ I’d love to!” 

Pete clapped his hands together and motioned for one of the valets to approach the van as everyone got out of the vehicle. The valet, a young kid probably no older than twenty two, took the keys from Dallon and quickly got inside. He started up the van and quickly drove off leaving no barrier between Dallon and Pete. He closed the distance between himself and the rest of the band and stood there with his hands at his side. 

“ What a mismatched group of guys, I swear. You all look like kids on a trip with your dad.” Pete crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he observed the band lined up perfectly next to each other. “ On second thought, you guys sort of look like EQ bars on a music player… Super tall, short, tall, tall, short. Hahaha,  _ wow _ .”

The cars weaved around them as they drove up to the entrance of the hotel to drop off passengers. Pete pointer his thumb behind him at the entrance as if he was making a casual suggestion. Brendon and his group stood unmoving for a brief moment waiting for someone to make the first move.

Ryan then took the initiative, making the first step forward. Pete then turned around, heading back inside the hotel as Ryan followed with everyone else close behind him. With the way Pete carried himself as he walked through the lobby of the hotel, nothing had appeared out of the ordinary. A group of guys walking through the lobby of a hotel casino? That happened all the time.

The elevator ride up to the floor of Pete’s private suite was filled with the one-sided ramblings about nothing and everything. Jumping from one topic to another, Pete talked animatedly about music, his club, and how he saw a drunk guy attempt to swim in one of the fountains at the hotel. 

Pete continued his conversation as they arrived on the floor and walked to the suite. They stopped once arriving at the suite door; on the other side music could be heard intermingling with voices. Pete pulled out his card key and turned around, flashing the key at the group.

“ I decided to host a party and you're all invited.” He said with a grin. He turned back around, inserted the key and pushed the door open. The loud booming music and conversations flooded the hallway making the group of five feel even more unease.

Pete walked inside, holding the door open, and motioned for everyone else to come in. Slowly, they filed inside the expansive suite and stepped directly into a party with people drinking, chasing each other, playing card games, doing drugs, and various other illicit activities.

The door closed behind them and Pete made himself around the group. He clapped his hands together, “ Let's go to the VIP. Follow me.”

Weaving through the crowd of people they have never met, Pete lead them to a room with the door closed. He knocked on it once and waited two beats before opening it. He held the door open, motioning for everyone to enter. 

It was a bedroom. A bed that was untouched was in the center of the room, with furniture to accentuate it tastefully as if it was prepped for an interior design magazine. To the left was a sliding glass door revealing a view of the Vegas lights and access to a balcony. 

There wasn't time to enjoy the view or the quiet serenity of the room once they heard the door close behind them. It cut off the noise and blanketed them in a room of silence save for the faint thumping through the walls. In contrast to the party on the other side, it was like entering another world. 

“ I wanted you all to meet my business partner.” Pete said as he walked over to a table opposite of the sliding glass door. It was then that they noticed there was another person in the room.

The man was sitting at the table in a business suit, a fedora lying on the table next to where his hand was resting. He looked at the group and smiled a smile that seemed to lack any of the devious malicious intent Pete’s smiles would contain. In fact, he looked out of place, like a straight edge Wall Street broker that had accidentally ended up at a wild frat party. 

“ Patrick Stump, Panic at the Disco. Oh, I'm sorry,” He cleared his throat, “  _ Panic! _ At the Disco.” Ryan mentally sighed. “ Panic at the Disco, Patrick Stump.”

Patrick waved to them, “ Hello.”

They waved back awkwardly, mumbling greetings that only seemed to make the guest raise an eyebrow. He looked at Pete.

 

“ A quiet bunch, aren’t they?” Patrick said amusingly.

 

“ They’re just shy.” Pete walked over to Brendon and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He pulled him close, “ This one in particular  _ loves _ to talk. Go on, introduce yourself.”

Brendon licked his lower lip, “ H-hi. I’m Brendon.”

“ Great guy and an  _ amazing _ singer. Usually good looking except he managed to get a black eye today. But ninety nine percent of the time his skin is  _ flawless _ .” 

“ Hi, Brendon.” That sweet smile again.

Wow, Brendon was having a hard time trying to figure out why a guy as nice and sweet as Patrick what associated with this borderline sociopath. Pete released Brendon and stood behind each member, tapping them on the shoulder as he introduced them to Patrick like they were his own children, each awkwardly waving and saying hello with expressions that clearly said, ‘Why am I here? Please send for help’.

Pete stood in front of Brendon and asked for the briefcase, which Brendon handed over without any hesitation. Pete took the simple black case into his hands and walked over to table where Patrick was seated with his legs crossed, posture refined as if waiting for the surprise of a lifetime.

“ Can we go… since we made the delivery that you requested?” Brendon asked as Pete placed the briefcase on the table’s surface. He slowly ran his hands around the edges.

“ Why do you want to leave so soon?” Pete asked nonchalantly, thumbing the latches of the case. He looked up at the group of men standing by the door. “ Don’t you want to see what’s inside? Aren’t you curious?”

Brendon laughed, but it sounded out of desperation than anything, “ I would love to but I have to get back home and, well,” Brendon pointed the guys standing behind him. “ They have to get home too and it's pretty late. I mean, Spencer promised his wife he’d be home by midnight and, I mean, you know how wives are and all of that.” 

Pete’s expression fell, unamused, “ No. I don’t know how wives are because I’m not married.”

“ Okay. Fine. Fair enough. But, there’s no need for us to be here.”

“ Said who?”

“ Said…” Brendon trailed, carefully thinking of what to say next. Pete lifted his chin as did Brendon, both eyeing each other -- one with a look that dared the other to say what they were all thinking in the room. Brendon slowly lowered his chin, Pete mirroring his actions, “ … No one.”

Pete grinned, no trace of his previous expression to be found, “ Great! Because I have you guys till midnight and there’s just so much left for you to do before I even consider wiping your debt clean, Brendon Urie.”

“ Um, is there a need for me to be here?” Dallon asked. Pete raised an eyebrow.

“ What?”

Dallon stepped forward, slightly stumbling over himself, “ Uh, I have nothing to do with all of this so I was wondering if I could just leave…” Pete shook his head slowly. “ … I guess I’ll just stand back here then.”

Pete inserted the code into the padlocks of the briefcase slowly and grinned once the latches released with a pop. He looked at the group.

“ If you didn’t know, Patrick here is an dealer of particular goods,” If on cue, Patrick nodded his head in acknowledgement. “ And this here is briefcase filled with something  _ very _ important.”

Patrick laid his hands on his lap, “ I am honestly in the business of keeping my clients, well, happy. I like to describe it as long as the rooms keep singing, that’s the type of business I’m in.”

The party on the other side of the wall burst into loud laughter as if emphasizing his point. 

Well, that certainly complicated things. The innocent sweet smiling businessman was anything but sweet.

Fuck.

Flexing his fingers and shaking off the nerves, Pete opened the briefcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the end! Will our heroes make it out alive?! Stay tune next time!
> 
> I love writing Pete omg.
> 
> Thanks for your kudos and reading!


	6. Friday, 7:50pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we've reached the end of our little tale....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this happened. I apologize to the guys if they ever read this.

**Friday, 7:50pm  
4 hours 10 minutes left**

* * *

 

Empty.

It was empty. A black void of nothingness.

Pete slowly closed the briefcase and slowly opened it again as if it was a magic trick and the prize would magically reappear.

There was nothing inside.

He checked the pockets, again, empty. He started chuckling in disbelief as he ran a hand through his his short hair.

“ Where the fuck is it?” He asked as he looked at the briefcase.

Brendon looked around the room, glancing at his friends, and then pointed to himself.

“ Are you talking to me?” He asked with raised eyebrows. Pete looked up from the briefcase at Brendon with a threatening glare.

“ Who else would I be talking to?”

“ I-I don't know. I mean, if you think I opened it or whatever I can say straight up I had nothing to do with that.”

“ I told you specifically not to open it…” Pete said as if what Brendon had said went on deaf ears. “ What part of that did you not understand?”

“ Pete, I did not open it. I-I don't even know what was supposed to be inside.”

“ Pete, he's telling the truth. We never opened it.” Jon said quickly, stepping to stand beside Brendon like he wanted to be his support. He was able to defuse him before so he could do it again.

At least he had hoped.

Pete slammed the briefcase shut with enough force to shake the table. The sound reverberated across the room. Patrick sat silently, undisturbed by the outburst. He picked at some indivisible lint on the sleeve of his suit jacket and flicked it away.

“ I personally witnessed the item being placed in the briefcase myself.” Patrick said matter-of-fact. He lifted his hands up with a shrug. “ I handed you the key. I'm quite confused myself as to why a brick is completely missing.”

Everyone had gone pale. Spencer looked at Ryan who looked back at him with the same shocked expression. Jon froze up, finding it hard to think or react to what he had just heard. Brendon ran his fingers through his hair several times, feeling his heart race in his chest and the room close in on him. He blinked a few times, trying to take a few deep breaths, but found the act hard to do.

Dallon slowly took a step forward and gave Brendon’s shoulder a firm squeeze. He leaned his taller frame over enough so he was at level with the singer, speaking calming words of encourage softly. The anxiety attacks were nothing new to Dallon -- he had witnessed them on several offhand occasions, usually before a performance as the band or before an audition for a label. Usually a few quick words and a firm reminder that someone was there in the room with him would calm him down enough that he could function again.

Besides, Dallon wanted to go home. Brendon freaking out was not going to achieve that goal.

“ You had us transport cocaine across state lines?” Spencer asked quietly as he finally found his mental footing again. He turned around and looked at the two criminals. “ You had us traffick illegal drugs across state lines?! _Are you out of your goddamn mind_?!" Spencer ran a hand down his face with a loud groan. “ That's a fucking federal offense and you thought you could just trick us into doing this for you?! So that's what this is all about? Trafficking cocaine around Vegas for you?!”

Pete rolled his eyes, “ Get off your fucking high horse, Smith.” He drawled. “ What did you think this was all about? A bonding experiment for you guys? Do you think I honestly give a shit if your band got back together or not?”

“ I don't give a shit about the band, Wentz, but I sure as hell care about my family.” Spencer countered. Blue eyes as cold as a winter storm challenged the crime boss. “ I won't be dragged into your little drug farm entrepreneurship. I knew you were shit the day Ryan introduced us to you but I didn't say anything because he liked you.” He scoffed. “ I'm fucking out of here.”

Spencer turned and walked towards the door. His hand rested on the doorknob when he heard Pete’s chilled voice, “ Good ol’ Smith, thinking he's smarter and better than everybody because he has a graduate degree and knows how to invest his little coins. Oh, I know about you. I know about _all of you_ . “ He said as he pointed to each one of them with each word for emphasis. “ You think you can walk out on _me_ ? Ha! I will have your pathetic families _killed_ before you even make it out of Vegas.”

The former drummer slowly turned around, his heart racing in his chest upon hearing the threat.

“ Yeah, that's right. Linda, isn't it? And Cassie… Breezy….” His eyes landed on Brendon. “ Sweet little Sarah.”

“ Fuck you!” Brendon spat, shrugging Dallon off of him. “ I swear to God if you even dare--”

Pete aggressively locked the briefcase and threw it at them, cutting Brendon off. It nearly hit Spencer, crashing against the wall with a loud bang. It fell onto the carpeted floor with a muffled thud but the party on the other side continued unaware of what was going on in that room.

Pete began laughing as he paced in a circle, occasionally rubbing his nose as he sniffed. Yeah, he was definitely on something.

“And don't think I forgot about you, Ryan. Your brothers? Yeah, you all belong to _me_. I will find out who stole my goods. If you don't talk I will call up someone up that will give you motivation to come clean.” He threatened with a frenzied frustration. He stopped pacing and slammed his hands on the table.

Patrick remained unfazed as if he was used to these outbursts. He only pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a hum.

“ Why don't we just bring them out into the desert?” He said as if he was suggesting a movie to watch. “ We are all here in Vegas; why not do it in a way that would make the mobsters proud.”

Pete nodded. “ Yeah… I like that. I like that a lot. Like in _Casino_ when Joe Pesci’s character ends up in a hole out there in the middle of nowhere.”

Patrick nodded like that wasn't what he had intended but it would do. “ Yeah, exactly like that.”

Pete walked over to the dresser in the room and pulled a small black hardshell carrying case. As Pete walked back to the table, Patrick stood up and straightened his jacket by tugging at the ends. He fixed his blonde hair and put his fedora on.

His unusually calm demeanor left the guys dreading what was going to happen next.

Things had went from zero to sixty real quick.

Pete pulled out a small vial from the back pocket of his jeans. He twisted open the top and poured a white powder onto his index finger. He quickly brought it up to his nose and snorted it. He blinked a few times, clearing his throat as he did so, and twisted the cap back on the vial. He shoved it back into his pocket.

“ Toss your phones on to the floor.” He ordered. With hesitation, the five men took out their smartphones and did as he ordered. “ Seeing how I can't even trust you to not steal my stuff I'm not gonna risk you calling the cops on me to save your asses.”

He warned them not to do anything funny, such as alerting anyone to their situation, before they left the room. They walked through the crowd of party attendees like a chain link gang, one after the other with Patrick leading the five men, apparently texting away on his phone, while Pete trailed from behind the group. If anyone had noticed, they were too high to see anything was out of the ordinary.

They had gathered at the valet pickup to find Dallon’s van waiting with the doors open. Before Dallon could even question why his vehicle was waiting for them outside, Pete quickly got in the driver's seat, keeping the small black case on his lap. The five sat in the back while Patrick assumed the seat in the front. When the doors closed, Pete took off, nearly speeding to the highway.

Dallon had guessed it would make sense to use his van as the accessory to murder. It wouldn't implicate the actual murderers at all; it would all look like a senseless car jacking when it was all done. A group of a few young guys that ended up with the wrong crowd in Las Vegas. An unfortunate story with a cold case ending. It would make for a good 20/20 special -- he wondered who would play him in the re-enactment.

It sucked that it had to be _his_ van and that _he_ had to die that night because of the guy sitting next to him decided to rip Pete Wentz off. Dallon contemplated punching Brendon’s other eye to make things even, because he actually _deserved_ it for all the drama he had brought to his doorstep. But then he grimly realized that Brendon was probably going to end up with a bullet in his brain in about another few hours.

It wouldn't have been fair to do in hindsight of the bigger picture.

“ Who's van is this?” Patrick asked with his legs crossed and his hands clasped together on his knees. They were on the road for a while, if Dallon had to guess, a good hour.

“ Uh, it's mine.” Dallon cleared his throat. “ Was mine…”

Depending how the night was going to end, it was either case at that point. Patrick hummed in curiosity and leaned his head back, tilting enough so he could talk to Dallon in the back.

“ I was debating buying one of these. It's a 2015 model, right?”

“ Yeah, it is.”

“ I have a family of my own and while the Prius is nice and all, when you want to take a nice road trip, these things are so much more practical. Wouldn't you agree?”

The drug dealer had a family and was considering purchasing a Dodge Caravan. If they weren't in the situation that they were currently in and if the man considering his transportation options wasn't the one that suggested killing them in the Nevada desert, Dallon wouldn't have had found the conversation weird nor be creeped out at the notion of having a talk with a potential murderer over family-focused automobiles.

“ It's a nice car,” Dallon said, a little confused on how to take the conversation. “ Low mileage too. Which is great to consider if you plan on keeping it after killing us.”

Patrick laughed, “ Now why would you assume that I would kill you for your van?” He turned his attentions back to the night scenery of the highway. “ I don't need to kill someone for a van. I let others do it for me.”

The conversation immediately ended.

Brendon didn't know how long they had been driving or where they were driving to. Pete had got off a random exit somewhere northwest of Las Vegas and diverted to a backwood county road that lacked any street lights and was pitch black outside save for the headlights of Dallon’s van illuminating the pavement.

The van turned onto a dirt road and continued down the way until there was nothing left but the wide expanse of the Nevada desert.

“ We’re gonna find the truth out tonight.” Pete announced like they were on a talk show and he was the show’s host. He quickly got out of the van, the black case in hand, and stalked over to rear sliding door. He opened the slider while Patrick calmly got out of the car. “ Out.”

They all got out of the van and Pete ordered them all to stand in a line in front of the van with the high beams of the headlights shining directly on them. Patrick stood next to the van, casting his body in a ominous glow that made the chubby young man seem a lot more menacing than he had appeared. Pete paced back and forth in front of them with the black case in his hand swinging with each step he took.

“ I think that we can all agree that we are hiding a lot of secrets, right?” Pete said, looking at the group. “ Did you know that most marriages fail when the couples keep their secrets hidden from their partner? But, on the reverse, most marriages are saved when they come clean. So, I propose that we all come clean tonight. Get it out and into the open.”

Pete walked to the van and placed the black case down on the hood with a bang. He popped up the latches on the case and opened it. He took out a slate colored 9mm semi-automatic and clip, inserted the clip and cocked the pistol. Pointing it off to the distance, he pulled the trigger.

 _Bang_.

The pop of the bullet leaving the chamber echoed across the desert valley. The five men jumped at the sound, clearly scared witless at the realization that they were going to die that night. That everything was now becoming a sick and twisted reality. Pete was not joking around; they were going to feel his wrath that night. Spencer, Jon, and Dallon had only heard of the rumors. Ryan and Brendon had witnessed these moments first hand. But regardless of seeing it or hearing rumors, nothing could prepare them for being the ones in the hot seat.

“ Now, kneel.”

They slowly got on their knees. The headlights were blinding and they winced, finding it hard to see. Brendon held up his hand to block the light from his view to catch a better look at Peter. The man leaned against the front of the vehicle, petting the weapon like it was a pet dog.

“ I'm being honest, Pete! I'm telling the truth!” Brendon stressed.

Pete whistled as he continued to look at the gun in his hand.

“ Why should _I_ believe _you_?” He said with a chuckle. “ Out of everyone in your little band, you're the least trustworthy of the group. Isn't that right, Ryan?”

Ryan blinked. He looked at Brendon, who was kneeling next to him, and then at Pete who was now looking at them like a predator stalking its prey. He ducked his head curling his hands into fists on his lap.

“ I don't get where you're going with this…” Ryan mumbled.

“ Oh, stop it, Ryan!” Pete scoffed. “ I know you were angry at Brendon for lying to you. It's why you left the band and my club, after all. He,” Pete pointed his gun at Brendon and everyone held their breaths with a loud gasp. “ Will lie, cheat, and _steal_ his way to the top.”

Ryan closed his eyes and took a slow, steady breath.

The truth.

How such a small word could carry so much weight, yet, be regarded so little by many people. Or, was it that the weight of responsibility behind the words was the driving reason behind the liars and their lies. It was amazing how so many little lies had accumulated and mutated into the situation they were all in now, and after a few brief moments, Ryan began to find the intrigue of it all.

If lies were the reason they were kneeling in a desert with guns pointed at their heads, then why not give everyone a show they could never forget.

“ If we’re going to be truthful tonight,” He began slowly. He looked at Brendon, “ Then why don't we start with how you sold us out.”

“ What?”

“ Why did the band break up, Brendon?”

Brendon sighed, “ Are we going back to that with a gun literally pointed at our heads, Ryan?”

“ Oh, no. Why are you playing serious now, Brendon? Afraid to take responsibility for fucking us over?” Ryan leaned forward to get a better view of Spencer and Jon who sat on the other side of Brendon “ You all remember that night, right?”

Spencer opened his mouth and frowned, pausing to gather his thoughts, before saying, “ Why does any of this matter, Ryan?”

“ It matters, Spence. All of this _fucking_ matters!”

Deja vu.

Five years ago, in a living room filled with unpacked boxes and one black pleather couch, Ryan had yelled those same exact words after Spencer had asked that same exact question. Ryan was shaking at that point, the conversation about the band quickly deteriorated into a shouting match between everyone in the room, though Jon had tossed in his towel long ago, finding it better to just sit on the couch and become a spectator as the other three yelled and shouted accusations and complaints.

It was bound to happen. Jon didn't know when, but he had a feeling it was bound to happen. It started with quips about the lyrics, things like chord progressions, and then disagreements over how the songs needed to be sung before Ryan would just huff and leave band practice, isolating himself the back seat of the green Civic until everyone realized practice was over when Ryan wouldn't come back.

When Jon first experienced Ryan and Brendon in the same room, the two seemed inseparable. They were always together, goofing off at any moment much to the dismay of Spencer, who seemed to be the mature one of the group that didn't let the two stray too far of path. They seemed to be on the same wavelength; sharing the same fashion, listening to the same music, always huddled up together in the living room of the apartment they shared writing songs together…

But things had started to go south, and quickly, culminating to the moment that Jon had ended up sitting in on as Ryan and Brendon went at each other with words as sharp as knives, all with the intent to hurt the other. At which, Ryan had decided to react with his fist -- punching Brendon in the face. Jon and Spencer had to pull him off of the vocalist before a fight broke out that would leave Spencer’s house a wreck.

It was the punch that had set Spencer off. He yelled at Ryan and the argument swiftly changed to from a guitarist frustrated with a vocalist to two childhood friends arguing about selfish choices.

“ This band is my life and I won't let him try to vote me out because he wants to be the shinning star!”

“ There’s more to this and you know it. I'm saying this nicely, Ryan, don't drag this band into your problems.”

“ Fine.” He chuckled frantically, his hands shaking as he undid his tie. The situation was emotionally overwhelming for him. “ Fine. _Fine_ ! I fucking _quit_. He can have the fucking band... I-I don't fucking care anymore!”

Ryan snatched his leather jacket off the couch next to where Jon sat and, without another word, left Spencer’s home slamming the door behind him. Spencer scratched the back of his head, resting the other hand on his hip as he looked down at the ground. Jon picked at the armrest idly.

“ Can you fucking believe that guy?” Brendon spat, completely upset from the argument. There was a bruise beginning to show at the left side of his mouth, the cut at the corner now coagulating. Ryan got him good; a busted lip as a parting gift. “ It always has to be about _him_ and whatever the fuck he wants. I'm fucking done. Someone had to say it.”

“ Just get out.” Spencer sighed. He walked over to the door and opened it.

“ Spence, seriously?”

Spencer motioned out the door without saying a word.

“ Spence…”

“ It's over. I'm done. Out.”

Jon got up from the couch and walked past Brendon. He stopped at the doorway. Spencer and Jon exchanged glances that spoke everything that needed to be said: the band was over. After all their sacrifices, it all ended up amounting to nothing. Turning around, Jon nodded out the door.

“ Let's go, Brendon.”

Five years later and it's like Jon was transported back to that empty living room where two friends destroyed themselves and their band. Though, there was a madman with a gun pointed at them and several lives at stake.

“ Just answer the question, Brendon.” Jon said exasperated with everything. Brendon looked at Jon and scoffed, throwing his hands up into the air.

“ What the hell do you want me to say?! We all know what went down!” He ran a hand through his hair. “ He blames me for taking the band. But I didn't take anything he didn't already throw at me to take.”

“ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Ryan asked. Brendon turned and looked at Ryan with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“ Are you serious, right now, Ryan?! You were the one who left the band, not me. _You did_.”

“ Really? You're so full of yourself. You were the one that wanted to run to California! You're the one that insisted that you write the music! You were the one that wasn't happy with sharing the mic every once and awhile. All these goddamn demands like it's your band.”

“ It is my band!”

“ It was a _our_ band!” He choked back a laugh. “ For fucks sake, Brendon, it was our band. “

Pete whistled and leaned against the front of the van, resting his elbows on the hood. The gun dangled loosely from his finger tips, but not enough that it could be taken from him without a fight. Everyone looked at him, all visibly upset from the argument that he had instigated. He chuckled and glanced at Patrick.

“ What do you think about all of this, Patrick?” He asked.

“ It's interesting.” Patrick shrugged. “ I don't see how any of this relates to finding out who stole my coke.”

“ I like to see the big climax before the finale.” He looked at Ryan. “ Especially when you know more than one is willing to admit. Isn't that right, Ryan? Why don't you let everyone know the real reason why you're mad at Brendon.”

Spencer looked at Ryan from the corner of his eye. The man was visibly nervous; his hands were shaking on his lap and he flexed them ever so often. Like everyone else kneeling on that hard, sandy floor with a gun to their heads, Brendon coming back into their lives was like a ghost returning to haunt them. It conjured up bad, negative thoughts and emotions that they all had managed to get over with the course of time.

But for one of them, Brendon represented a lot more than a self-centered nuisance.

Spencer had known even if Ryan didn't tell him outright. The unique thing about their relationship was that they didn't need to communicate verbally to know what was on their minds. He could see it in the way he acted; in the subtle glances, the way he carried himself in their conversations. There wasn't a need for confessions -- it was like a silent beacon flashing in front of his face -- nothing else needed to be said. They just _knew_. 

It didn't take much for Spencer to know that it had went deeper than the looks and drawn out conversations deep into the night.

Ryan remained silent. He was good at keeping secrets.

Pete pushed himself off the van and walked over to the group of men. He paced down the line, up and down, the barrel of his gun bouncing in rhythm pointed directly in their direction as he mouthed the childhood rhyme: eeny, meenie, minie, mo.

A mixed bag of reactions. Shock, anger, disappointment, confusion… All clearly written on each and every one of their faces. Pete laughed at this, finding their reactions absolutely hilarious. He looked over at Patrick and nodded towards the group as if trying to say,   _take a look at this hot mess, can you believe it?_

Patrick raised an eyebrow but didn't say a thing else.

He stopped in front of Brendon.

Brendon didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. He was immobile -- his heart raced in his chest, bile rushed up from the pits of his stomach and burned his throat. Fear kept him in place as the barrel of a gun came directly into his view. There were too many times to count of the moments Brendon would laugh at the idea of people and their undying devotion to an omnipotent being in the sky, but for this very moment, Brendon could only fall back on what he instinctively had been conditioned on as a child.

He closed his eyes tightly and mentally began to recite a prayer in his mind forgiveness and mercy.

“ There's a reason why I don't believe you, Brendon. It's a pity you haven't thought of it yet.”

The sound of the gun being cocked echoed throughout the empty desert.

“ Drop it, Wentz.”

It wasn’t Pete’s gun.

It had belonged to Patrick.

He was standing next to the van; he had not moved from where he stood as he watched Pete. There was gun in his hands, aimed directly at Pete. Where he had hidden the weapon, no one knew. The only thing any of them could register was that this drug dealer was now holding a cocked gun aimed at a club dealer with an expression that was anything but friendly.

Pete blinked.

“ What is this, Patrick?”

From the distance, a caravan of vehicles were approaching at full speed against the backdrop of the faint Vegas city lights. The white and blue lights looked like a sea of luminescent fireflies in a black night sky. With each breath taken, the distance between them and the authorities inched closer and closer.

Patrick took a step forward.

“ Drop the weapon.” He ordered again.

“ What are you doing?” Pete watched the approaching vehicles. He laughed with a shake of his head. “ Are you setting me up?”

“ If you want to consider this a setup, go ahead.”

Two sedans stopped just short of van in a haze of dust and sand. The lights flickered above the cars, casting everyone in a frantic haze of blue and white. Two men in black slacks and dress shirts quickly got out of one of the vehicles. They took out their guns, aiming them directly in Pete’s direction. The one who stood behind the passenger side door was covered in tattoos, each inch of exposed skin marked with ink up to his neck. The other, behind the driver side door, also had tattoos but not to the extent of his partner. Had it not been for the badges they wore hanging from their necks and the bullet proof vests that had DEA in large, bold yellow text across, no one would have been able to tell they were federal agents.

“ Fucking… son of a…”

“ Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III, you are under arrest for the operation of an illegal gambling ring and trafficking of drugs across state lines.” Patrick declared, unwavering. He nodded at Brendon. “ Shoot him and you'll be adding a murder charge.”

“ You're a fucking cop?”

“ I guess you can say that. Federal agent, actually. ” He smirked. “ And that briefcase? We purposely left it empty.”

“ Drop your weapon, Wentz!” Came the order from the heavily tattooed agent. Pete glared at Patrick, his finger resting on the trigger of his gun as if threatening him.

“ Drop the weapon and step away from the individual.” Patrick took another step forward. “ Do it! There’s a dozen of us and only one of you!”

It was a stand off. Three guns pointed at one man who had his gun pointed at a hostage. As the rest of the agents arrived, the four men stood at a stalwart; who was going to shoot who first. Would the club owner go out in a blazing glory? Would the singer die at the hands of a coked out mad man? The situation was unreadable -- no one knew what to say, to think, or what to do.

A few moments later, a sigh was heard. Rolling his eyes, Pete followed the orders. He tossed the gun to the side and took a few steps back before slowly dropping to his knees. As Patrick barked more orders, the two agents ran to apprehend him.

Brendon and his friends watched in awe and confusion at the entire unfolding of events.

Everything had went from a gun to his face to secret undercover agents saving their lives. From that moment it was like the world had slowed down and everything was playing out in slow motion. Pete was handcuffed and dragged away by several agents without even putting a fight. Patrick and the first two agents that had arrived on the scene had approached them, talking to them and getting them to stand up, but it was just garbled noise against Brendon’s ears.

He did not just experienced what he had experienced. Did he?

“ Hey, hey… Brendon is it?”

Patrick’s voice brought him back to reality. He looked at the drug dealer, no, the DEA agent in awe.

“ Y-yeah…”

“ I apologize for the troubles. We’ve been on this case for two years working undercover, me and the two agents over there, Agent Hurley and Agent Trohman. I’m Agent Stump, by the way.” Patrick extended his hand and Brendon took it and shook it, but almost out of a subconscious effort. He was on autopilot. Nothing was making sense.

“ How… what… How-how did you… how did this?”

“ I was tracked by my phone. I notified my team of what was going when Pete was distracted and ordered the bust.” He glanced at Agent Hurley and Agent Trohman who were now questioning an extremely confused Dallon. “ They were following us the entire time.”

Brendon nodded slowly. His brain was finding it hard to catch up.

Agent Trohman approached the two men. He looked at Brendon for a brief moment, “ The tall guy says that’s his van and it has nothing to do with Wentz’ business. He wants to know if he could just drive home with it now but I told him we gotta impound it.”

Patrick rubbed his chin, “ Yeah… it's ours now. Once we’ve cleared everyone we’ll figure something out. Just let him know it’s evidence and we’ll get him back to Vegas.”

“ Right.”

Trohman jogged back to where Dallon stood and it didn’t take long for the tall, passive aggressive bassist to finally lose his cool, yelling and cursing at how unfair it was that he gets to loose a van on top of being dragged into a drug deal he had no business in. Trohman signaled for different agent to take over. A smaller man ran towards them and replaced Trohman, attempting to calm Dallon down as he lead him to one of the vehicles.

“ What’s going to happen to us?”

“ Well, we’d like to question you and Ryan a bit more. It looks like you have some involvement with his little side business and we need all the information we can get to send to the DA’s office. The other guys can go once we get back to Vegas-- What’s up, Hurley?”

Agent Hurley did not look like a DEA agent at all, but he was one; much to Brendon’s disbelief. The agent grinned at Patrick.

“ Just got news that they’ve successfully raided The Chirock _and_ that little party up at the Palms. Looks like our guy won’t be seeing the light of day for a _long_ time.”

“ Good news! We definitely gotta celebrate once this is all over.”

Celebration.

Hun. Brendon guess this would cause for a celebration.

He watched as Patrick took out his cell phone and took notice of the time.

Twelve midnight.

***

The Vegas weather was unforgiving to the five men who stepped out of the DEA headquarters and onto the streets of Las Vegas with nothing but their wallets and a two thousand dollars each to find a way back home to Los Angeles. The dry heat and hot sun baked them unrelentlessly, forcing Brendon to finally take off his leather jacket. They looked terrible; their clothes were wrinkled and covered in stains of dirt, their hair a frenzied mess sticking up in various directions, and looked as if they had not slept in weeks.

Their phones had been recovered at the party, but were destroyed in the raid when people tried to escape the room, crushing the phones with their feet in their haste. They were able to call their family early that morning, after being questioned for hours about the ordeal. The excuses? A bad night that involved too much liquor and not enough common sense. Much love and kisses, we’ll be home in a few hours.

“ So, uh…” Jon started, with a scratch of his chin. “ At least we got two thousand dollars a piece?”

“ My _van_ is worth fifteen times that.” Dallon grumbled with a glare directed at Brendon.

Brendon slumped into a crouch, “ Dude, I said I’m sorry. It's not like I knew all this was gonna happen.”

“ Can we honestly _not_ do this.” Spencer groaned. “ I have a headache. One good thing happened last night so let's just focus on that.”

“ And it's Saturday and we’re in Las Vegas. Why don’t we just make it a day? You know, unwind, and like… I don’t know… catch up or something.” Jon suggested with shrug.

They all stood on the sidewalk silently for a few minutes as they cars drive past. It was a weird feeling, standing on that sidewalk covered in dirt, and not having a single ounce of anger or resentment with each other. After all that they had experienced within those hectic twenty four hours, things like the band seemed quite insignificant. 

“ Fine.” Ryan finally said with a small smile. It was the first thing he had said to any of them since the incident of the previous night. “ That’s not a bad idea, Jon.”

“ See? I haven’t been to Vegas and I’m sure my fellow bassist friend here hasn’t been, either?” Jon gave Dallon a pat on the shoulder. The taller man looked at Jon, stress clearly written all over his face.

“ I just want to go ho--”

“ No excuses. Let’s go.” Spencer interrupted as he gave Dallon a push in a random direction. He continued walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pocket and Jon grabbed Dallon by his bicep, pulling him as he followed after Spencer. " I know this great taco place out in Summerlin that I haven't been to in  _years._.."

Brendon and Ryan stood and watched the three walk away. The guitarist chuckled and ruffled his hair with a sigh.

“ Spence is always good at defusing situations.” He observes. Brendon looks up at Ryan, shielding the sun away from his eyes.

“ Is it true?”

Ryan hummed, but he didn’t acknowledge what Brendon had asked.

“ Look, I’m sorry… I-if like, you know… ”

“ You know what, how about this. Let’s just act like all of that never happened and we’re starting anew.” Ryan extended his hand out. Brendon took his hand and allowed him to help him up on his feet.

“ Seriously?”

“ You just got two thousand dollars for being an unwilling decoy in a government sting. I got two thousand just for being dragged along. All of this was over two thousand dollars that you owed Pete. I think that qualifies as restart on things, don’t you think?”

Brendon blinked, then, smiled, “ Yeah, yeah. I like that.”

“ Good.” Ryan licked his lips. “ Good, good.”

“ Perhaps we can … start writing again? I have this idea for a song.”

From afar, Spencer started calling for them to hurry up.

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

“ What type of song?”

“ Something about cocaine and gasoline.”

Ryan looked at Brendon for a few moments as he tried to connect the two together. Then, when it all finally made sense, he started to laugh.

“ That sounds hilarious. Sure. Let’s do it.” Ryan crossed his arms. " So, what was the two thousand for?"

Brendon grinned, " An engagement ring."

Spencer yelled after them and they run to join up with the rest of the group. Brendon announces, with as much flair and dramatics, that the band is officially back together much to Dallon’s vocal disapproval of such inane ideas, though Brendon could see with small smile on his features that he also liked the idea.

Ryan and Spencer’s eyes meet. With a raised eyebrow, Spencer asks all that needed to said without having to say a word. Ryan just grins and with that Spencer knows all that he needs to know.

Everything had came full circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished. Yay! 
> 
> I really debated with going full on Ryden or just hinting at it. So I just hinted at it. 
> 
> I apologize to any Pete fans for making him the villain. 
> 
> Who knows what happens with the guys. Maybe they start the band, maybe they don't. I think they've all moved on that doing the band thing would be difficult without sacrifice but hey, who knows, right? 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and all the kudos and bookmarks. Please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts XD


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